The Fall of the Evenstar
by trekker2000
Summary: Arwen must die. that is all she knows. But she has no idea how soon. But it all comes into perspective when she is shot down by an orc arrow. the rocs from the south are coming for revenge, and the wont stop until the Elven Lords holding the Rings of Prosperity are dead. (I apologize for any inaccuracies) (part 1 of 4) (prelude to "Fall of the Elven Rings")


Arwen (1)

Lord Elrond glanced at her, his eyes full of sorrow.

"You should have just gone." He whispered, clasping his daughter's hands gently but firmly.

"This was my choice, Father." Arwen whispered as her father held her hands to his chest to warm them. They were getting cold.

"I…." Elrond chocked. This was his only daughter, and she was choosing to die. To Elrond, that hurt more than dying himself.

"I will be alright, father." Arwen replied gently, even though everything inside of her was screaming with dread and fear. "Aragon will care for me."

"We do not even know if he is still alive. There is no hope."

"There is always hope. We just have to search for it."

Aragorn (2)

His heart ached. His eyes stung. But here, in the middle of camp, he was a liege lord. All these men of Rohan were here because of his utter urgings, and they would readily die for him. If he couldn't control his emotions, what use was he as a king of men?

Still, he felt sick. Not home sick, but Rivendell sick. Rivendell was not his home, but it held nearly everything he held dear safely, or so he hoped.

Arwen was there.

That's what made his eyes yearn to shed their baggage, the thought of something bad happening to Arwen. She was an Elf, and immortal by all rights. The only thing that could kill her was an ill-placed sword or straight arrow, and even then, elves were great with medicines, so she probably wouldn't die. Her people couldn't get sick, and wounds could not fester.

Aragorn knew all this, yet he feared. He feared that he would die, he feared he would have to retreat back to Rivendell, that Lord Elrond would finally force his only child across The Great Sea. Maybe she should go. Even a blade could kill the immortal, and there were plenty of those around.

"Aragorn?" A young bowmen pulled Aragorn out of his reverie.

"Yes?"

"We're… going to be okay, right? I mean… we're going to win?" The boy asked.

"Of course, they're just Orcs. Every man of Rohan is worth ten orc warriors, you yourself must be worth twenty." Aragorn smiled encouragingly. A lot of the riders were barely men grown, and should only be hearing about heroes vanquishing orcs, instead of seeing orcs vanquish them.

And that was what scared Aragorn. Billions of orcs were waiting for them at his true throne, Minas Tirith. Every rider might be worth barely five orcs, and there was an unaccountable number waiting for him. The whole of Sarumon's army.

And that was scary.

Arwen (3)

Everything ached. Her mind, her body… her soul.

The world faded and grew as Arwen drifted.

When she tried to stand up, her legs where weak, and gave out. Anything she ate fought to come back up barely an hour later. Smells and sights dulled, her senses slowing. Her stomach was filled with flutterflies in spawning season. _Aragorn's not coming back. _Aragorn's not coming back. Aragorn's not coming back.  **Aragorn's not coming back. ARAGORN'S NOT COMING BACK. **She screamed in her fevers, and shivered and wept in her chills.

"He's coming." Elrond murmured as he smoothed the sweat-plastered hair from her brow and kissed her there.

"Father?" Her gentle voice replied. Her eyelids opened slightly to reveal fever-bright eyes.

"Yes." Elrond's voice smiled: she spoke. Arwen was slowly getting stronger. He clutched her hand and a tear fell from his face.

Arwen meekly stretched up and stole the tear and shed one of her own. "My choice."

Aragorn (4)

Minas Tirith was burning.

The port was anyway.

"Get ready." He told his companions, Legolas and Gimili. The boat pulled up, and a few orcs from the shore were catcalling, mocking them.

Aragorn took great pleasure when the orcs realized the boaters was a human, an elf, and a dwarf.

The orcs hissed and raised their weapons, and Aragorn grinned.

"EYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY" He cried, and thousands of Ghosts of the Warriors from the Hills streamed across the water and slaughtered the orcs. Because in case you didn't know, nothing but the great blade of the True King of Men can truly hurt these forsaken warriors, but if they put their mind to it, they can kill anything.

The battle was turned. The Riders of Rohan, led by Eomer, were no longer afraid. The ghosts pulled down Trebuchets, swarmed over Oliphant's, and swarmed into Minas Tirith. The guards of the city shrank away, but the warriors only killed the orcs. Blood was shed only from the enemy.

Minas Tirith was won.

Arwen (5)

"Father." Arwen called, leaning against the wall.

Elrond rushed out and reached his daughter before she crashed into the ground from exhaustion. He helped her to a bench overlooking the garden, and let her lean against him. He pushed back her hair from her eyes and hugged her.

"What are you doing from bed?" Elrond was barely glad, but even siting up meant she was getting stronger. Arwen didn't even look better.

"We must ride to Minas Tirith, to Aragorn."

"You know we can't do that. Sarumon's army…"

"The battle is won, Father. You must take me to Aragorn. We must make haste."

10 days later

Aragorn (6)

The castle was his, so was the kingdom of men, but something was missing.

He had his crown, his castle, why did he feel so empty?

His friends were smiling, Legolas as close to smiling as the Prince of Mirkwood ever did. Aragorn thought Gimili's face was going to split.

He'd achieved his ends: why couldn't he smile?

_Arwen. _

But, she couldn't be here. The path was too dangerous.

Elves of the Rivendell guard appeared, and their shields shied away: they were bearing Royalty.

But Elrond would certainly come in mail and armor, he wouldn't dare bring Arwen when he guessed their might be danger. From the look on his face, Aragorn's heart dropped. Something bad had happened.

But then a fair face appeared, peeking from behind one shield.

Aragorn's heart beat that much faster. _She came. _

"My love." He tried to call to her, but the words died in his throat. Joy overcame him at her sight, and sadness at all of his dead friends.

She slightly trembled on her feet, and Aragorn's brow slightly came together, but Elrond didn't seem worried. His eyes were moist, but Aragorn could tell he was happy. And proud.

His arms were slightly outstretched after his daughter, and Arwen herself seemed weak. Aragorn raised his arms to catch her is she should fall, which seemed very probable.

Arwen (7)

_He's right there. _She thought as she walked from the warm embrace of her father to her king. Her legs wobbled and she felt slightly sick, and really in pain still, but she wanted to smile. She was going home to her King.

Her legs were wobbly, and she almost fell a few times. The crowd slowly got happier, they seemed to know what was going to happen. Arwen just focused on staying on her feet and going to Aragorn.

When she fell into him (the walk, even though really short, had been without assistance from her father and she was now weary), she gave up trying to hide it. Arwen smiled.

Aragorn (8)

Arwen felt cold and weak, but he hardly paid mind. She was _smiling. _Really grinning and happy, even though she was pale and cold and staggering. She fell into his arms and smiled and giggled.

Every feeling he couldn't feel for her faded and was replaced by her image, her face, her smile. The love he held for her.

They both knew the Queen had come back to her king.

10 years later

Arwen (9)

She awoke with a pain in her side, a stiffness that she hadn't noticed before. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sucked in air through her teeth. A stabbing pain raced up her leg, and there was a fuzzy feeling in her foot.

She shook it out and sighed embarrassedly. She looked over at Aragon, and was glad to find that she had not woken him. Nearly eleven years of mortality, and the feeling of a sleeping limb still startled and frightened her. It was embarrassing when Aragorn raced to her side whenever she sucked in her breath. It was barely anything, but Aragorn had been painfully worried about her since she told him about her mortality: four years ago.

She sighed when she heard the screams of playing children. Her and Aragorn's child had decided to grow up when he was five, and even though he was hardly eleven the boy could wield a short sword almost as well as she.

The boy never had a childhood: he'd rejected it. He decided that because he was the king's heir, he should be just as good with sword and better with bow and just as wise.

Aragorn couldn't be beat, but neither could her son.

As she looked out the window, Arwen felt tired. Not the need to sleep brand of tired, but the brand that made you sad all the time, and made you know somehow that something was going to happen. Not that you're going to die, but that you might.

And the screams sounded different, and the city a little too bright for five in the morning, and the breeze a little too warm. There was the sound of metal below, not like the sound of the smithy. The bowstrings twanged, but not in the practice yard.

A word seemed to hit Arwen, before the arrow did. _Death. _

She collapsed, pain roaring up her shoulder. The fletching of an arrow could be seen just below her collar bone.

"ARAGORN!" She shrieked, and he sat bolt upright. He saw the tip of the arrow, poking out of Arwen's back.

Aragorn (10)

"NOOOOOOOOO!" He screamed, and jumped from the bed. He crashed to her side, a tear smearing down his face.

He had no time to think. He jumped up and slammed and bolted the wooden shutters, and the tip of an arrow buried itself in the thick oak wood.

Legolas, visiting from Mirkwood, heard the shrieks from his window, Aragorn's pained yell, and grabbed his bow and arrows and blade.

He rushed down the hall, Gimili (visiting from the Lonely Mountain) behind, clutching his axe. They burst into the room, finding Aragorn holding his sword at the ready, over a body. Arwen's.

"Legolas." Aragorn sighed, relaxing he chop and falling down beside the body again.

"Arwen." Gimili gasped.

Arwen (11)

It felt like there was a hole in her body, and there was, truly. But still, she heard Legolas and Gimili enter, and sat up, using Aragorn's hand as a brace.

"I'm alright." She groaned, even though she felt pretty bad.

She stood and Aragorn supported her. "Legolas" She whispered, and the elf of Mirkwood came striding to her side. "Snap the arrow and stuff the injury with linen." Legolas did as he was instructed, while she cringed and buried her face into his neck, fighting back sobs. The wound throbbed with every beat of her mortal heart.

Arwen stood and grasped Aragorn's arm with the shoulder that now ached, and with the opposite grabbed the hilt of her sword. She set her mouth in a hard line, and nodded. It was time to go. Legolas was at point, Gimili at flank, and Aragorn supporting Arwen slightly behind.

The slowly made their way to the King's armory, and Arwen sat down and leaned against the wall while Legolas quickly armored, then he came to sit on her one side.

"We must make to Rivendell." Legolas replied to the unasked question.

"Yes." Agreed Arwen.

She beckoned her son to her side and told him to go and find all not dead and tell them to find a way to Rivendell. He nodded and went off.

"Orcs." Faramir announced as he bolted the shutters. Four other armsmen pull up and stung bows and buckled sword belts as Legolas changed the bandage and Aragorn helped adorn his queen in light armor.

"I suggest we go to the Eagles of Manwë. They are kind and the hills are free of dangers and will gladly fly us to Rivendell." Legolas said.

"We would have to make it through Fangorn forest and Lorien to get to the passage between the mountains at Indria. Arwen can't make that journey." Aragorn insisted.

"Yes, I can." Arwen replied. "The bleeding will subside. If we were to go down the side of the mountains, we'd have to cross the Gap of Rohan and make it all the way to Rivendell. There are a few Inn's along Anorien that will do their best for me, and maybe even allow us a cart and some food, or swifter horses at the least. The journey in the shadow of the mountains is much more treacherous"

To this, Gimili and Legolas could agree. Aragorn reluctantly agreed as well, but only after Faramir and the four armsmen had many blades and promised the way would be simple with such skilled riders as this group.

"Legolas, aren't the Silven Elves and the captain of the Mirkwood Guard, Tauriel, here as well?" Arwen asked. When Legolas nodded, she told him to go fetch them and meet them in the stables.

"We must hurry."

Aragorn (12)

Something inside Aragorn began to wilt that day. But still his wife stayed strong and ordered her people. She held the safety of the people over her own son.

The stable weren't burning, but his heart was. Rivendell was so far away. It was true they might find Gandalf at an inn along Anorien, and he could call the Eagles, but it might be unlikely; it was clear trouble was brewing.

"These are a rare kind of Orc." Farimir said as the group, the five guards, the twelve (including the Mirkwood captain) Silven elves, Gimili and Legolas, and the king and queen, were mounted each on their own horse. (Excluding Gimili, of course. He was far too short, and had to ride the back of Legolas' horse). "Definitely from Haradwaien. Getting revenge on their brothers, but it takes many a year to reach here from even the nearest lands of Haradwaien."

"The Mountains of Timbar." Tauriel agreed. They knew much about the orcs.

"Does it matter where they are from?" Aragorn nearly snarled. "They attacked us, all we can do it run as far north to Rivendell and Mirkwood and hope those armies, if not the armies of Rohan, can fight and win. Mayhaps the dwarves." He tugged his horses head to one of the five stable boys. "You, go send word to Erebor, Edoras, Helm's Deep, Mirkwood, Barad-dur, Dol Guldor, Esgaroth, Bree, The Shire, and let Rivendell know we're coming. You other four, come ride with us. When you have sent the messages, flee as best as you can." The boy nodded and ran off, the other four mounted in their rags and barefeet that were best for working the stables and they set out.

Aragorn's heart went into his throat when Arwen tucked her heels gently into the horse's side, and when it started with a kick nearly fell off. But she was a great rider, and regained her balance. Everyone else went at her pace, and when she urged her horse to break neck speed, everyone else did as well

Several civilians found horses that the stable boys had set loose and mounted up and chased along with the group. A mother had two children in front of her, and they cried as their father waved bye to look for another horse. Nearly twenty had joined the party that started as 25 people when they reached the front gate.

The horses put on full speed as they rounded the White Mountains that bordered Gondor and along the Great River north to the Misty Mountains.

Arwen (13)

Her heart stayed in her throat all the way to Anorien. Her shoulder throbbed and stabbed with pain nearly constantly, and seven sheets were torn and used to the road. The final piece was soaked through and the top of her mail was growing red when the first in just south of the border of the desert known and Anorien was visible.

Aragorn helped her down, and led her to the door of the inn. Two lads came from the stables and took the remaining horses. While nearly 40 horses had started the journey, hardly nineteen remained. Strangers had to ride double a horse, those horses died. All four stable boys had ridden one horse to the ground, then another horse.

The inn keeps looked at them and at once knew something was wrong. This was the king of the men of Gondor and his queen, not to mention countless others.

"Orcs" Gimili whispered.

"Do you have any healer about?" Tauriel asked, because Aragorn was busy worrying about Arwen.

"Not as such." The inn keep, a fat, old, comely woman replied. "But we have some different medicines for different wounds. Some elves sold us as they were going into the desert."

"What do you have for arrow holes?" Tauriel asked.

"I have this green potion that you boil until it turns a sky blue, you pour it into the hole, and it takes infected blood and stops the wound from festering for a few more days. I'll give you everything you need for free."

"We can't ask that." Arwen argued, closing her eyes to keep the tears from falling. "We have some gold, and some copper, but no silver."

"Anything you give me, I'll be over excited for, but I'm not asking for nothing." The inn keep replied.

One of the Silven Elves went to the fire with the keep to oversee the boiling of this potion, since he was familiar with such things and was fairly adept at tending to the wounded.

Meanwhile, the inn keep led the group to the largest room, and reserved all empty rooms needed for them. Still, the stable boys had to share a room, the Silven Elves (minus the Healer and Tauriel) had to share a room, the civilians each had to share one, and the guards (excluding Faramir) had to share as well.

Those excluded would share the largest room: the main bed had room for five, and two other small beds capable of holding three off to the sides.

Arwen was laid on the largest bed, even though she objected. The inn keep left them (them being Tauriel, Aragorn, Arwen, and Faramir) and went to see the Healer and how the potion was coming along.

Aragorn helped remove the armor and leather, Tauriel dressed her in a fresh gown. (One that exposed the wound. It was actually quite low cut).

Arwen felt like she was dying. In fact, she was. But if they got to Rivendell before the fall of the year (another four months), treatment for the wound would not be too late (assuming the potion worked).

When the healer walked in with the steaming (and still boiling potion), Arwen swallowed a knot in her stomach. It was incredibly unsettled. Serving boys were shoed away, and it was established that anyone who wanted food could walk down themselves, or someone of the group could bring back food for themselves.

While waiting, Aragorn had insisted that Arwen eat and drink some, if nothing else, gentle bread and a cool and sober wine. Feeling incredibly weak, Aragorn had to break the bread into small chunks she wouldn't have to chew so much as swallow and dribble wine between her cracked lips.

And as she laid down on her back, Arwen wished she had refused more firmly. Her stomach was in knots and everything inside it was like a tornado: whipping around and needing to be released. _I won't let go on Tauriel. _Arwen told herself. _I'm still Queen of the Men of Gondor. I have to be strong. _

The Silven Healer cut strips of thick linen and another elf, whom he deemed his best assistant, rolled them into cylinders. A cloth was put on her back, where the hole ended, but the pain began.

Then she felt the wait if the phial against her chest. It was so cold that is sent prickles up her skin and she could suddenly feel her fever.

She closed her eyes tight and clenched her teeth and took deep breaths, trying in vain to calm her roiling stomach down into submission.

Then there was pain.

Blinding, white pain. Take any pain you've ever felt, and multiply it times a thousand. Arwen bit back the screams of pain, but not too well, and they tumbled out of her mouth. Her whole world seemed to shatter in an instant.

Everything twisted and turned in her blur vision and she could feel hot tears streaking down her even hotter face.

A white light seemed to take over her brain, she couldn't think, only feel, and even then, only feel the roaring pain of a boiling fluid being poured into her shoulder to fight off the festering.

It _hurt._

And even though she was the Queen of the Men of Gondor, she lost it. The bread and wine came roaring up, burning her throat. The tears sliced at her cheeks, making smaller rivers.

"She will walk in a haze." The healer said as he lifted a skin to her lips. Arwen fought the Healer, but Tauriel and the assistant healer held her down, and Aragorn held her head. He screamed hoarsely as a new burning liquid flowed through her throat and spread like fire in her chest.

Slowly, everything began to fade. The pain went with conciseness and she was in a deep sleep that for a moment she swore was death.

Aragorn (14)

It hurt him. His heart, I mean, to see his love like this. Tauriel was covered in her lunch, but didn't seem to mind as she quietly slipped to clean herself and her cloths.

"Her wounds should not fester 'till the fall of the year." The Silven Healer told Aragorn. "This is a sleeping draught. If you should require me, the Silven Elves will gather the stuff we need to make more. The potion shall help with her pain, and make sleep come all the more easy. It will keep her from suffering so on the journey to the Eagles."

"Will it always make her sleep as such?" Aragorn asked, looking at his loved one.

"Not if it is given in a small swallow, it will only steal the pain, but not the wakefulness."

"Prepare as much as you can. She will want to stay awake, but she need not feel pain." Aragon instructed the Healer. He nodded and stood to fetch the other elves. As much as he would have liked to stay, Aragorn had to figure out a way to send these people to the safety of Rivendell or the shire. "Faramir, look over Arwen. I have stuff to attend."

The guard nodded and sat on the edge of the bed, his sword resting at his feet.

Aragorn went down the stairs to the common room, to speak to the inn keep.

"The orcs are coming, larger orcs. They are most likely avenging the south, Gondor shall soon be gone I expect. They are coming north. It would be wise to send these civilians north now, if not on the morrow. I recommend a dwelling or forest of the elves, Mirkwood, Lorien, maybe even west to Rivendell and to Forochel, Evendim, maybe even Forlond or the Shire. Erebor, or the Iron Hills to the Dwarves would be wise as well. We must send forth messages to send armies to the tip of Mirkwood at the least, secure the rivers and lands for protection to the north."

"I agree." Replied the Inn Keep, who considered herself a woman of Gondor, since she had been born and bred there. "I will send them all forth the morrow morning with carts. You and your escorts will need the fastest horses to get your Queen to someone who can truly save her from this dread full wound."

"Yes. We will need maybe twenty some strong horses, for I shall ride back side with Arwen to keep her health, the healer and his assistant must share a horse, Gimili cannot ride a horse himself, so must double with Legolas. Everyone can double, but I do wish Tauriel and Faramir their own horses, and the four guards each need a horse as well, Silven Elves are great with bows, as are many elves, so it would be wise to double them so the back and shoot arrows and the front can slash and drive the horse."

"We have nearly a hundred horses, and many less civilians, even with your additions. You shall get all you might need."

"I thank you for your kindness." Aragorn bowed low. "I must ask one more thing of you. Have you seen a boy of eleven? He has my hair and Arwen's eyes and lips and my nose and a mix of our builds."

"I am deeply sorry, but I have seen no such lad. If I do, I will be sure to send him on to Rivendell." The keep replied sadly. She knew what it was like to miss a son. Her own had gone north, not much more than eleven himself and had gotten killed by the fiends on the road before men of Rohan rode them and acted as guards.

"I thank you."

They both bowed to each other, then he took his leave to pick the horses and confer with Legolas, Gimili, Faramir, and Tauriel.

"We are at the southernmost tip of Anorien. We need to get to the pass as quickly as possible." Aragorn started.

"We could keep going straight north and following the Great River." Gimili suggested.

"Have you even been in the middle of the Anorien dessert? Even following the river?" Tauriel asked. When Gimili shook his head, she snorted. "The Silven Elves went through the desert along the Great River to scout the south in greater detail." She pulled a map from a pack. "We did pretty good maps, but the Great River turns into the Pitiful Stream, horses can barely trudge a days in before they die, and seven of the elves perished before we would get to the other side and walk along the shadow of the mountain." She leaned forward. "If we go in the desert, I can near guarantee that Arwen won't come back out. No matter how strong she thinks she is."

"There is another river, I thought." Faramir included.

"Yes." Legolas responded, pulling another map to the top of the pile. "If we go west on the border of the desert, that small stream outside quickly turns into Entwash river. Clean, clear, good water. Gentle path. Cool but not cold. A horse could keep breakneck speed and need to rest an hour every 18."

"Best of all, it flows right into Fangorn forest." Faramir said. "We follow Entwash, it eventually turns into Limelight. We follow that north east, we get back to the Great River. Three, maybe four days west along that river bank, we hit the edges of Indria and its path through the mountains."

"More importantly, the Eagles." Gimili finished.

It was still a dangerous path: every path was. But as long as you followed some type of river, you're horses could last a lot longer.

A Silven Elf proficient in map drawing was brought in to make a new map, and mark their path clearly with red ink. All Aragorn saw in the red was Arwen's blood.

Arwen (15)

She was flying. Or was it falling? Arwen didn't know, they were so similar: falling is just like flying but with a more permanent destination.

She felt like was drowning. Maybe she was, but it was a red sort of drowning.

And if you could be on fire in the middle of a blood river, she was.

Her shoulder screamed even in her sleep.

But maybe she wasn't sleeping, not truly. She had been known to glimpse a possible future, like her Father Elrond.

The feathers of the Eagles were looming down on her. Had she fallen, or was she dropped?

Eagles crashed down around her, falling just as bloody. Faramir's dead body smacked into her and she went into a confused roll.

Then she hit the ground with a smack.

Aragorn (16)

He had been dreaming the dreams that one with a fever might suffer.

He had been riding an old horse he'd favored once as a rider. Arwen was receding into the forest to hurry an injured and dying Frodo to Rivendell, but the Blood Riders were close. She was passing through a mountainous region, and an arrow pierced her heart. She fell of the horse, spitting up blood, Frodo dead, the ring taken.

The shadow spread over the world. And although everything was dying, Rivendell was still bright.

Until Aragorn brought the corpse of Arwen back to her father, who was grief stricken.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, he was shaking. No, he was being shaken.

Legolas' face was looming over his own. "You were shaking and screaming, Aragorn." Legolas reported, seeming bashful.

He looked over to the large bed that Arwen was on, and saw Tauriel sitting by her side, pinning her shoulders to the ground.

Even though she was on the Draught of the Dying, Arwen awoke with a terrible scream that seemed to shatter.

"The orcs are heavy, but gaining. If we do not leave now, we will not be so much ahead as to be able to soar freely. We must only rest bare in order to stay ahead the Orc's outriders. If we wait until the morrow, the orcs will be all that much closer. We must leave now." Arwen gasped.

"I'll send a rider, but you must rest." Tauriel eased Arwen back down and looked at Aragorn.

"Send a scout."

Arwen (17)

When she awoke, she found Aragorn and Tauriel and Faramir conferring.

"If we leave now, we'll stay nearly a week ahead, resting only an hour. We leave on the morrow, and even if we make haste, the orcs'll have a chance to shoot us down." Tauriel argued.

"Arwen can't make the journey." She heard Faramir snap.

She sat up in bed, and slowly stood, to prove her strength. "I'll make it. Move now." She ordered and Aragorn smiled. She was strong.

She hardly needed help from Tauriel and Aragorn to dress, after her refreshing, if not disturbing sleep.

She was clad in ringmail over gentle and worn boiled leather. She wore a cloak that hardly touched the floor. She buckled on her sword belt, her sword and two daggers dancing around her hips with every move.

When she sat the horse, she guided it with skill, even though she was nursing an arrow hole that had gotten that much too close to her heart.

Aragorn (18)

As they raced along at near breakneck speed, he was sure that Arwen would break her neck. She sat her horse firmly, but long, and if a fright or attack came upon her she would surly injure herself in any fall.

But she was too stubborn to ride double with Aragorn unless the really need to, and that probably wouldn't be admitted too until she collapsed upon the ground.

Tauriel told them, five days later, that they were on the edge of the Entwash River that was closest to Anorien.

"Are we not further along?" Aragorn asked, exasperated.

"No." Tauriel turned on him. Her green-ish eyes accused him, and in turn, Arwen.

"We can't light a fire anymore. We only stay in one place for two hours, and fire would alert the orcs to our position." Faramir sighted as he loosened his sword and dagger in their scabbards: it was his turn to watch.

"I only hope the keep and the people got out first." A Silven Elf piped in: he was sharing the watch.

Everyone else spread a blanket and curled under their cloaks close together. It got cold this close to the desert at night, and they always stopped 12:00 night to 2:00. Aragorn took the flagon the healer had prepared with the resting draught and held the back of Arwen's head, even though she protested and tried to take the bottle for herself.

He poured a gulp into her mouth, which she swallowed with a wince. The draught itself burned more than the strongest liquor.

She would sleep for the next two hours, and would rise with the fringes of sleep on the edges of her mind. She could still control the horse better than most men, even a few riders.

Tonight, rather what the group called night for now, it was Aragorn, Legolas, Faramir, and a Silven Elf named Celiviel, had watch.

Aragorn knew the tales about the Silven Elves. They were more dangerous than normal elves: their philosophy wasn't one of peace or tranquility, but more of caring for themselves and their friends, at any cost.

Tauriel certainly looked wild: red hair that tumbled nearly past her waist, bright green eyes that sometimes had the look of being brown, and a sturdy, rather than stringy, build that was not found in most Elf Maids. She was well- muscled and strong, she could keep going for a, long while, and she was a skilled horsemen. Plus, she was kind. She cared for everyone she just met, as long as they weren't orcs. She had that personality that you don't double cross her, but she won't double cross you, either.

Great friend, fearsome enemy.

Most Silven Elves shared her look, not really green eyes and the hair of one marked by flame, but heavy build.

The fought for their friends a lot, and never really held still. To be honest, it was a wonder that Tauriel was still the Guard of Mirkwood, she was often off on scouting missions. But, then again, the Silven Elves were a strict and well-behaved order. Thranduil would be wise to use them.

Whatever most Silven Elves had, it seemed that Celiviel lacked all of this.

She was clearly a Mirkwood Elf, her silver hair was tied back with elegant braids and at its longest hung down to her mid back. Her blue eyes were piercing, her brown eyebrows hung over her eyes.

In fact, she looked just like Legolas, only stringy.

She barely had anything to her. It was kind of amazing because she'd stuffed herself at the feast when the Silven Elves had arrived at Minas Tirith, and every day until they fled after that.

Some elves were like that, just skinny and unable to get fat. But Aragon had never seen one of these kinds of elves act as one of the Silven. He edged closer to her. She glared at him. Or maybe she was just looking, but with her face, she looked like she was permanently glaring.

"Celiviel, yes?" Asked Aragorn. He had to try to strike a conversation.

"Yes," She replied.

"How many years have you?" Aragorn bit his lip and closed his eyes, but five words too late. Elves hated being asked their age, and they only told you in the case of bragging. Aragorn couldn't even remember how old Legolas was. "I'm sorry."

"It is alright." Celiviel replied, and Aragorn exhaled. "I am still a child, I haven't really found the hatred that comes with being asked your age so many times."

"The last thing I would want is to offend anybody."

"You are a loyal elf-friend. So often a human of dwarf would betray us for the sake of some gold or silver. I'm 249 years old."

Aragorn was startled. He didn't know much about this kind of thing, but he did know that 200-some years for an elf was incredibly young. Still after 800 years, Tauriel had been misliked by many elves when Thranduil had treated her with kindness and respect and took care of her as one of his own.

"If you don't mind my saying, you're just a kid."

"I am. Much like Tauriel, I'm just a scrawny kid whose parents were put to the sword 239 years ago. Thranduil took me in, too. He suggested that I be a Silven Elf, and Tauriel only too happily agreed. She acted as my mother, and Legolas as my father, though they did not protect me as such. If my parents were still alive, I'd be stuck in Forochal even to this day."

"Forochal, that's a long way away."

"Yes. I was Mirkwood born, but not breed. When the Necromancer caused the woods to become terrible, my parents were planning a child, and as soon as I was born, they moved as far from Mirkwood as you can without crossing the Sea.

"When Frodo was on the journey to destroy the ring, the evils came all the way past the Shire, were my parents had though they would be safe.

"There was a few Elf Maids that had journeyed to meet old friends in Forochal, and saved my life. They asked where I was from, and though I didn't remember it, I did remember there was a Forest with a fair and kind king with Silver Hair.

"They took me back home to Mirkwood, and their under the protection of Tauriel and Legolas I have been since I was mere 12 years old, for the journey all the way east had taken two years."

"You have seen much sadness and cruelty." Aragorn was moved by her words.

"Yes. The orcs murdered my parents and countless others. I was breed for war against them. I thought there was peace, but I won't rest until Arwen recovers and the orc that felled her feels a pain so terrible he will wish he was dead."

Arwen (19)

Fangorn Forest loomed huge, but not dark. Arwen couldn't dismount- her legs shook under her and she fell. Aragorn held her and stood her back up, and mounted her up again. She hung her head, from shame, but also from the total and consuming weariness.

The group led their horses through, a Silven Elf leading Aragorn's.

He walked besides her, his hand resting on her leg. Arwen's horse seemed pleased at the change of pace, but not at the forest. Which was understandable. Faramir and his guards hated it. Gimili, Legolas, and Aragon had been through the forest once, searching for Hobbits while going south to Rohan. Gimili still hated it, he clutched his axe.

The horses shifted at every move the forest made: prompted by wind or not. Arwen whispered lullaby's to her horse to keep him steady. Every jolt he made sent one of her own up to her shoulder, and she had to bit her lip to keep from crying out. Sometimes she still made a whining sound, like a puppy being scolded.

Something huge moved in the forest, and Legolas tensed his bow string. There were wolves and bears, enchanted like the trees, in Fangorn, but they weren't interested in diplomacy as much as the Ents, the guardians of the forest.

Even the Ents hates these creatures, so if you shot one down, they thanked you.

"That's no Ent." Legolas whispered.

Arwen had been many places, but the Enchanted Fangorn forest had not been one of them.

"Tauriel." She breathed.

"Yes?" The elf snapped to attention.

"Ever been here before?"

"A few times." Tauriel responded, with a whisper. The air felt so thick that it was a crime to make a noise. "But the path is different every time."

"What D'ya mean?" Gimili asked, reading his axe. Legolas put his hand on the dull side of the head.

"Relax it, Gimili. The trees are old, and adverse to the Axes that ripped them from their elder roots." Gimili hardly moved his axe, and Legolas sighed slightly.

"I mean, the river stays in the same place, but the paths don't. Not enough people go through here to carve a new path every time the Ents shift, and that act is often. They block the river to reach the water, they follow intruders, lock them in an embrace while they sleep."

"Unless you get the grace of one." Aragorn broke his silence. "So keep your elf eyes open and call friendly to any Ent you might see shifting about. And Gimili, we're not here to hurt the trees, but you're making them think we are. Put that axe away."

This time, Gimili grudgingly obeyed, put kept it loose in the event he would need it.

Arwen saw many things stirring in the brush, but not all of them friendly. She pulled her sword, and Aragorn jumped.

"There are wolves, bearing in upon us." She whispered.

"I see one!" A guard yelled, pulling his own blade.

At that moment, they jumped.

Nearly four dozen from what Arwen could count lept from the trees. She sliced one in half, a Silven Elf shot an arrow and it buried itself in another wolf's skull. Gimili's axe cut the heads off of three at once, Aragorn pulled his own blade from the haunch of a snarling wolf just as Faramir bashed it's head in.

Arwen's horse reared and whinnied, but fought as well, hitting the closing wolves in their faces with it's hooves, smashing skulls and shattering spines.

Blood spattered everywhere as Arwen took the head off of another that lept to kill her on her back.

The trees seemed to shift, but none came forward.

One guard called out as seven wolves pounced at once, and the first one to leap bit down on his neck. The others climbed off at the lead wolf throttled the man, and bit down on his stomach.

His screams echoed in Arwen's ear, and one elf put a spear right through the middle of the wolf eating the human guard.

Legolas was pinned by wolves closing round against a tree, and Arwen gently kick her horse. He got the message, and pranced forward, running down the surrounding wolves.

It was like the whole forest was giving birth to wolves, they kept coming and coming, they hungered for flesh like no other wolf did. These wolves would make a good front against any orcs coming this way, but so would the Ents.

Gimili chopped his way to an Elf, and another Elf to Faramir. The horses kicked and screamed, and one was being eaten alive by the savage wolves, his entrails spilling as he tried to bolt, but more and more of the wolves poured on top of the animal, tearing flesh from its living haunch.

Faramir helped an injured Elf to the trees, and the others took suit. The horses all bolted to the river and lept in. They were better swimmers than the wolves, but the savage beasts didn't seem to know that. Arwen steadied her own horse, then slowly wheeled about to look around.

One of the Silven Elves was injured, but not too bad. Seven horses lay as corpses, or near enough. The one guardsmen that had fallen stayed down, mangled with no hope of recovering. Tauriel shoved a dagger into his chest to stop his fluttered and frantic breathing.

None of the trees moved as everyone climbed down. Aragorn counted the living and buried the dead. This was a tragedy, and he sure wasn't going to let the wolves eat a good man and some good horses.

The found the river again and kept going north. They had to keep going, even though they were now walking with no horses and near no hope.

Aragorn (20)

The trees never stirred, never helped. They didn't care.

They knew Aragorn, the fought for him, sent him counsel, even called him a tree-friend. Did they not recognize him, or just not care?

Arwen had let her horse go, and was leaning gently against Aragorn.

For a while, the path on the banks had been too dangerous, so they had to wade the stream. Legolas had to carry Gimili, because the dwarf was too short and fat and would be swept with the current.

It wasn't a strong current, but the water was heavy, especially in Ringmail and boiled leather and cloaks. Tauriel helped Cinoic, the injured elf, along the stream.

Every now and again they would run into a clump of dead wolf bodies, stuck on rocks or fallen limbs, or a single wolf would come gliding down the gentle current and nearly smash into somebody.

Angered and scared horses were a force to be reckoned with, and these enchanted wolves couldn't swim well.

Aragorn himself was up to mid-chest, and any wolf would be short enough to have to swim, and swimming upriver is harder than walking, and these wolves weren't true wolves, so they could barely even walk. They would drown or be knocked down by a horse.

Every now and again they would see the body of a horse. Its entrails would be spilled on a bank, if anything was left besides the bones.

The party couldn't stop to bury the dead anymore. Now that they were walking, they had to keep going nearly all hours, and cut rest to a mere hour and a half instead of two hours.

Everyone was looking haggard. The forest was deadly when this pack of evil wolves was about. They could clearly see the paw prints on the shore of those that had escaped to feast on the horses and those that had washed up half alive or had enough sense to fight their way back to land.

Tauriel pulled a limp Cinoic to rest on a pebbly back, and Aragorn sat Arwen next to him. They both fell to sleep promptly, their cloaks wrapped around them.

All the medicine and linen and blankets had been found torn and useless along the way, torn off the horses and up by the wolves.

One person would not sleep this time, since the trees and river were all around them, and the trees hated enchanted wolves more than they hated strangers, but not near enough as they hated orcs.

Aragorn slept wearily and dreamlessly. When he awoke, Tauriel looked somewhat pleased.

"I have be up scouting. By the night we should come out of the forest and to the Limelight River." Tauriel informed them.

Everyone was invigorated by this news: they were that much closer to Rivendell.

The trees closed onto the bank again, and, supporting Arwen, Aragorn trudged into the river. After sleep Arwen and Cinioc looked all the more better, which was a good sign for both, but perhaps more for Cinoic, whom should be walking on his own again so Tauriel wouldn't have to expend as much energy for him.

The water soaked past the rings of his mail, made the leather smell foul and stick to the body and weight him down, and past his clothing and into his skin. It brushed against his body restlessly, reflecting his own feelings.

The current was strong, which proved Tauriel's scouting true.

Aragorn's cloak and hood trailed behind him as the water slowly began to rise, but the banks did not. The place where two separate rivers met was always rough and the water high. But right now, that was good.

The water was up to his chin, and he was standing on his toes. It took effort to hold the waterlogged Arwen above water, and even Tauriel was struggling with Cinoic.

Gimili was standing on Legolas' shoulders, and Legolas was fighting to stay up under the dwarves' weight.

Faramir and his two living guards stood tall so the shorter elves could use their shoulders, and Faramir helped hold Ciroic and Tauriel above the swiftly rising water. Another guard named Lubryn was helping to support Legolas, and the third, a female guard named Oliwa took the other side of Arwen, the side that was uninjured, and helped Aragorn with his own weight.

It was only slightly embarrassing, but Oliwa was a seasoned Shieldmaiden from Rohan, and was a better swordsmen than most men half her age, as she was 40. She was sturdy and strong, and Aragorn thanked her profusely for helping him.

The day had come to a close hours ago when the group finally pulled together on the shore of the start of Limelight River. The forest was behind them, and good too.

"We must rest, regain our strength for the journey ahead. We will leave at the rise of the sun. We will change guards every hour, one guard a time. Everyone shall sleep this night."

Everyone looked duly grateful, even the Silven Elves, who were used to rough living. They built a fire for the first time in the three months since leaving Minas Tirith. Only one more month until the fall of the year.

Arwen had to hold on.

There were many plants about this stream, and the healer and his assistant made potions to keep the wounds from festering for another two or so months. This time, it was Ciroic who shrieked, while Arwen bit her lip even more bloody than it was.

They all stripped down armor, and lay in the barest cloths round the fire, so their cloths and skin could dry, as well as their leather and mail and cloaks.

Everyone else insisted Aragorn rest all the night, and even though he protested, he was duly grateful for time to rest.

Arwen (21)

She stumbled and hit the ground.

A roaring pain took over her mind and body, she felt consciousness edging away slowly yet surly.

Arwen's shoulder throbbed. She didn't want to continue.

The group had decided to go north-east instead of east along the river, to cut off nearly a week's journey.

"Hold on." She heard Aragorn call.

The hard ground that had been under her a moment before was now gone, she was lifted. Almost flying, if Aragorn had wings.

With every stumble, she cried out, even though she tried not to. "Shhhh." Aragorn whispered, "I've got you."

"Another day, and we'll meet the river." Tauriel said.

"She's not going to make it." The healer said, after removing his hand from her brow.

The burning went more than skin deep. Everything inside her burned. Her tears seared her cheeks, her lip was bloody from biting it, her hair hung wet with her sweat, even though she was shivering. She had torn the wound in the battle in the Fangorn forest, and the potion the novice had made was to keep the festering off, but not stay the poison, it wasn't strong enough for that.

She wasn't going to make it. That much she could believe.

Aragorn (22)

Arwen still lay unconscious in his arms when they met the Great River and started West.

She mumbled in her sleep gently, her naturally pail skin becoming even paler.

And then he fell.

He was exhausted- days with only four hours rest and keeping up a pace near to running was too much for him whilst he carried Arwen. She was light, but still a burden that would sometimes thrash in her fever and shiver in her chills, with sweat pouring off her brow.

"I can't go further." He gasped as he hit the ground, turning so as not to harm Arwen. It was embarrassing, but he could see in the eyes of even the Silven Elves that they were grateful for a chance to rest more.

"I must rest, we all should. It's getting dark, and the orcs are fools. They can concur in their own time, so they rest 12 out of 24 hours and walk slowly. We are very far ahead of them, even since we have been on foot. We can afford a full 8 hour rest." Aragorn decided. Everyone sighed with pleasure and sat down on the edge of the river.

Faramir stoked a fire and everyone wrapped in their cloaks.

Aragorn set Arwen down near to the fire, but not too close, and bundled her up.

The healer was full-on asleep, but most elves had some kind of healing power, so Tauriel came over.

Aragorn grasped Arwen's hand as Tauriel ripped a piece of cloth off a cloak of Faramir (without his permission, I might add). She pulled the old bandage out, or the lake that used to be an awkward yellow. (Oliwa's cloak)

There was blood everywhere, and Arwen whimpered when Tauriel poured some fresh boiled water from the river into her wound to clean it out. Some bits of yellow and green skin and white fluid came with the water.

The stream bed had many plants, and Tauriel knew them all. The collected some and boiled them in a separate skin while Aragorn held his cloak to Arwen's wound.

"I am unfamiliar with southern poisons, I can't do much." Tauriel whispered to Arwen, who was barely awake. "But this should clean the wound and take some of the sweet pain."

Aragorn held her hand as Tauriel poured the burning fluid through the wound. Ceroic had long since healed.

She was getting weaker by the day. The fall of the year had come and gone, and the potions from the inn had kept off the festering this far, and maybe even the poison. The wound was bingeing to fester as well as the poison flow through her blood.

And still, Aragorn refused to believe that Arwen would die.

Tauriel (23)

She was the strongest of the group. Not really on any given day, but everyone else was weary and just wanted a rest. All Tauriel wanted was to reach Rivendell before Arwen perished.

And that was why she was on her way to the elves of Lorien to seek horses to get the rest of the party through this forest of big trunks and fair elves and prophet waters.

She was not weary, so she was going alone.

That was what made Tauriel afraid more than anything else. Going into the forest of Galadriel alone. The forest itself didn't strike her fears. There were no wolves or bears, only trees and gentle birds. And Galadriel: queen of the forest and her gang of silver haired elves.

Mirkwood elves tended to have silver leaning towards the gold side, and sometimes, like in Tauriel's case, a fiery red. Rivendell elves tended towards deep brown and gentle black, maybe even a dark grey. But these elves of Lorien had pure silver hair, down to the least strand.

They fancied the prophesying waters, that when one looked into Galadriel's mirror, they could see the past, present, or soon to be. Rivendell elves, like Elrond, Lindir, and Arwen herself often had this gift to see the possible future. Even a few Mirkwood elves were able to hear the trees whisper the truth of the soon-to-be. She herself could, and so could Legolas.

Lorien Elves lived in hollows they carved out of the gigantic trees, instead of building among them. This hurt the trees, Tauriel was sure. She loved living in natural tree hollows and using the dead branches and mud and rocks to live in a home.

The Lorien Elves were so strange, but they were hardly kind. If a traveler asked for leave, the forest had to approve. Galadriel would make them look into her mirror to see the future from different eyes. They were so unnatural. But they gave company and room and food and horses generously, and if Aragorn and party could get Arwen to Lorien, the burden of death would shrink that much more.

Which was why Aragorn had ordered her to leave all behind except for a small dagger, if any orcs should have beaten her here. Small good a dagger would do against a horde of orcs.

Tauriel stepped into the fringes of the forest, peering round the corners, searching for elves. And as she found them, she wished she'd defied orders and brought a blade.

Nearly 40 elves surrounded her. As Tauriel whipped around, she nearly stuck her face in a pile of arrows. 40 bows were drawn towards her, arrows so close they would break her skin if she moved another inch.

The kind of the forest (who was also head of guards), Brydda, glared at Tauriel. Her hair was peculiar, a bright red. They were only found in Mirkwood, and even then, sparingly.

"Elf of Mirkwood, what have you in the Forest?" Brydda asked.

Tauriel glared right back, even though this was the party she had been looking for.

"I wish to speak with Galadriel, and ask for assistance." Tauriel responded, her commanding voice ringing out in the quite of the forest.

"Who are you? What would you need?" Brydda inquired, not ordering the bowmen back.

"Relax your bows and take me to Galadriel, and you might find out."

"I hardly believe you are in a position to make demands." Brydda responded, yet he released his bowmen.

"I'm not, but my voice is harder than yours, so you shall obey anyway, since you notice I have naught but a small dagger to defend against any threats."

"Small good it did against us."

"You wouldn't harm me. I am elf, and you know there are few enough left, so you would never let a stroke fall upon me. I shall do the same to Galadriel."

"She is Queen."

"I don't recognize her. Maybe you didn't tell, but I'm of Mirkwood. Thranduil is my king, and no one else shall presume to rule me." Tauriel snapped. "Now lead on, or I might let a single but deadly stroke fall upon you, and would be gone before your guardsmen could put up an arrow."

No body doubted this, so lead on they did.

Tauriel grinned sagely as the fear that was clear on their faces. No matter how many people came round to them, they would never truly become used to the wild natured Silven Elves.

Aragorn (24)

He loathed sending Tauriel to Lorien. She hated the elves there, but she was not weary in spirit, even Legolas was. The Mirkwood elf had a look upon his face as such Aragorn had never known him to wear. He had always been in higher spirits in any journey.

He clasped his friend on the shoulder. The elf turned his bright blue eyes on the man, startled.

"She's coming back. The elves there are not evil, only strange." Aragorn assured Leoglas. His mouth was set in a firm line.

It was completely clear to everyone that he held enormous feelings for Tauriel, even the she-elf herself. Legolas liked to pretend it was some big secret, that any regard he held for her was being around her for such a time, as his own father, Thranduil, had nearly adopted her, and favored her over any other elf that could have been in the guard.

"I am simply worried her mission will go uncompleted. If such happens…." Legolas let the rest of the sentence fall. After marrying Aragorn, Arwen and Legolas had been close friends, and it pained him to see her dying as well.

"I fear as well. But we mustn't worry too greatly. You know about Galadriel."

"She fancies her mirror, and will surely force Tauriel to look upon it, or we will not get aid, or Tauriel." Legolas responded.

The first time he had been through after he had gone west to the council of Elrond concerning Frodo, he was in such an urgent mood that Galadriel wouldn't dare hold him back. Then after that, the queen of the forest had been more interested in Frodo and Aragorn, and he had been spared.

He had a nagging feeling this time, he wouldn't be so fortunate as to be forgotten for a third time.

"I only wish Galadriel would understand haste a third time for me." Legolas responded.

Aragorn knew his dread. Many people dreaded looking upon the mirror, he himself had. Oft times you saw what you had not wanted to, or it would awake a hidden feeling. Boromir, his long dead friend, had seen terrible things about the downfall of Rohan.

It nearly happened. But whatever you saw in the mirror was never sealed in fate. It was only a chance that Boromir's had come true and Aragorn's hadn't.

'I would expect not." Aragorn grinned for the first time since Arwen had been struck down. Sometimes, the plight of his friends humored him greatly. "The Leader of the Eagles is probably off scouting, and he will want to bear myself, and Arwen. We are old friends. When we arrive and Lorien, I expect a messenger eagle will go to find the head and we will be stuck waiting."

For once, waiting wasn't a bad thing. He hadn't really minded Lorien, Galadriel was a little strange, but her first husband had been his friend, and had died for Aragorn at Helms Deep.

That time felt like so long ago. Aragorn supposed it was. Then he realized he hadn't been back to see Galadriel since he had passed through her forest on his way south.

These elves had seasoned healers, and even though Elrond was the best, they could probably easily keep her in the same condition, which was better than worsening. They might even clean some of the poison and fight the festering.

They might make a difference between life and Death for Arwen.

Tauriel (25)

She stood waiting in a grove of trees, which is exactly what she didn't want to do. Guards with pale silver hair stood all round, bows at the ready.

Brydda had taken her own dagger and left her open. Sure, Tauriel could kick and punch. She was even known to bite. But her teeth would do nothing against enemies with bows.

From earthen steps, Galadriel appeared. The sun couldn't cut through the tree tops, so there were gentle lighted torches all about, and the light shone off of her perfect silver-spun hair. Her eyes were so blue they might as well have been clear.

Tauriel was nearly breathless as her beauty, but then a growling fear came roaring over her.

Her voice was soft and melodious, but so was Arwen's, and a lot of other elf maids. "Tauriel, Daughter of the Woodlands." Even Brydda seemed shocked at her knowing this. Tauriel glared. "What a pretty name, but scowling makes your face a mismatch child."

"I'm not a child." Tauriel growled.

"To me, you are." Galadriel smiled slightly. She waved the guards away, and they retreated to a safe distance, but they were still curios. Galadriel drew her arm from Brydda and descended the earthen steps to the bottom where Tauriel was waiting.

Even though she hated Galadriel, she was an elf lord. She possessed one of the 3 rings, and demanded respect. Tauriel maintained her erect back, though she pushed her shoulders back so as to appear not to slouch, and relieve some of the stress on her arms. They'd been hanging uselessly to the ground, and backed shoulders released some tension.

"At least you still have a respect for me." Galadriel sighed. Tauriel's unflinching green eyes followed every movement the queen of the forest made. "You have not seen into the looking glass."

"No, and I don't intend to. I came by the wish of my company leader, Aragorn, King of Men."

"I know, Tauriel." Galadriel reached out a gentle hand and grasped and strand of her hair for closer inspection in the permanent gloom. "Daughter of Mirkwood. Head of Guards. Loyal to Thranduil. Strong and unyielding. I know your quest. And I will assist you. You will take a herd of my finest horses and ride out to your friends. I am preparing a set of hollows, and your friends can chose where they will dwell. We will send a rider out to the eagles to retrieve the leader. We have a skilled healer, to stay the festering and poison until the eagles return. I will gladly bare you on your way. I share my late husbands' friendship and fondness of Aragorn, and Arwen, though I have never met the latter."

"I thank you." Tauriel got ready to leave, but Galadriel laid a thin but firm hand on her shoulder.

"You must promise me something."

"What." Tauriel wasn't inclined to promise Galadriel anything, but if that meant she could leave, she would promise her life.

"When you return, you must look into the mirror. Your friend, Legolas, will as well."

Tauriel's heart sank. No one truly wanted to look into the mirror. "I cannot promise for Prince Legolas, but I am able to for myself, and so I shall." Tauriel kicked her heel with her toe. She hadn't meant to agree, but to bargain. But something inside her told her there was no time, so she went with the gut feeling.

"Go to your friends then, but remember to return."

Aragorn (26)

There was a thundering of hooves on the edge of his weary mind. Still clutching Arwen's hand, Aragorn wheeled about to see a small heard of horses coming closer. There was a thin, yet well-built elf on a white horse in the front, hair of fire streaming behind her.

"Tauriel!" Aragorn yelled hoarsely. Everyone else took up the cry too.

Legolas grinned slightly and put a hand on Aragorn's shoulder, and he flinched in surprise.

There was a horse for every member of the party, minus two. Gimili and Arwen couldn't ride on their own. They started gentle, Arwen all wrapped up.

Legolas with Gimili was on one side of Aragorn, who had Arwen in between his arms. Tauriel was on the other side.

"What convinced her?" Aragorn asked, fearing for the most.

"She says she bears you friendship." Tauriel started. She told them about the rider and her pledge to keep them safe, and Faramir grinned, knowing what was coming next. "She only let me come on one condition."

"What would that be?" Gimili called.

Tauriel suppressed a smile. "That I would see into the looking glass whence we returned."

"What's so funny about that?" Legolas asked.

"She recognized you haven't, either. She made me promise you would, and I tried to promise for naught but myself, but she only heard me saying you would meet."

Legolas went pale, and Tauriel laughed so hard she nearly turned the horse into Faramir. Gimili was chuckling in his masculine dwarf way, and Aragorn himself broke into a laughing fit.

And apparently Legolas was done being laughed at by Gimili, because he said something in elvish to the horse, and it whinnied, as if chuckling.

Then it reared and shot forward, and Gimili's laughs turned into almost shrieks of utter terror. The horse bucked and reared, and the beast itself seemed to be enjoying the dwarves plight. Leoglas had no trouble keeping his seat, but the bearded half-man did and he tumbled off the back of the horse.

The beast stopped bucking, and moved into line between Faramir and Tauriel, whose body was shaking was laughter, eyes streaming with joy, and red hair streaming out behind her.

Aragorn caught Legolas' look then at Tauriel. Not anger of any sort, but more of longing.

Arwen was awake as well, and her own frail body was trembling with quite laughter. Gimili was plucked up by another Silven Elf and sat on the back of that horse with a huff. Legolas himself seemed to grin, because now they were laughing at Gimili, not at him. They were very merry, for they could feel weight lifted off their shoulders of streaking to a seasoned healer and fast way to Rivendell.

Faramir still seemed jolly at Legolas' plight, so the elf prince leaned over slightly and said "Everyone that visits with time to spare must look into the mirror, whether it is forced or comes naturally."

At that moment, Faramir seemed a little pale.

Aragorn understood their fear. He had felt it once, too. But all he had seen was a long and wonderful life with Arwen.

Boromir had seen so much destruction, and nearly all of it could come true.

Yet Frodo saw the destruction of the Shire, and no such thing had happened.

Samwise had seen a happy life, Peregrin a lost one.

Everything about emotions seemed to come true, as they had been lying dormant. But events could be changed: the Shire had never been destroyed.

So many things could happen, in that mirror and out of it.

Arwen (27)

Everything seemed to be in a haze, and the elves seemed to glow before her. As an elf, you don't really see others glowing until you die, and it works that way with most species.

And Arwen couldn't help but laugh when Legolas went pale, and his glow did too. Then Gimili was tossed off and picked up by Eowátheil.

The closer they got to Lorien, the more the fear of dying seemed to shrink within Arwen. She was all that much closer to home.

When they arrived in the forest a day of constant riding later, there were dozens of silver haired elves that asked them their arrangements.

Gimili, Aragorn (And therefore Arwen), Legolas, Tauriel and Faramir asked to be in their own hollows, and everyone else went where they were comfortable.

Two silver elves bore her down some earthen steps into a hollow next to the water, and lay her down on some blankets and a pillow. Faramir stoked a fire, while a healer who introduced herself as Belelia stood over her.

Arwen was stripped of mail and leather and was given a fresh gown so the wound was easily assessable and a new cloak to warm her.

"Please, I would ask you to leave and stay in the clearing by the river. I must concentrate." Belelia insisted. Aragorn bent down and kissed Arwen on the brow and grasped her hand for a second before taking his leave.

The healer put a pot over the fire, and filled it with water.

Out of her cloak she pulled a bundle of dark green cloth tied with a piece of leather. She pulled the tying out, and spread the cloth and all the herbs on it out.

She picked some and put them in the pot to stew.

She laid a red cloth with nothing on it out next, and felt Arwen's brow.

"Do you have bindings?" The healer asked, and Arwen nodded slowly, knowing what the answer yes would mean.

The healer's cold fingers vanished into the wound and Arwen battled tears and the urge to scream, but she did anyway. A few moments later, she could feel the cloth was gone, and opened her eyes. The clump of wool that had been used way lying in a pool of blood on the red cloth, and at the sight Arwen felt extremely faint.

A white cloth was dipped into the potion and hung over the wound, slowly dripping onto it. The sweet fragrance of the burning hers filled the air, and Arwen felt sleepy.

Her wound constantly screamed as it was bathed with the boiling potion, but Arwen was swept up in a gentle fragrance that took her by her hand and helped her to soar.

She was fading in and out of sleep, but she recognized the chanting of the healer, working to dispel the poison and stop the festering. There were several white cloths that were dipped in the potion and set on the wound, and Belelia applied gentle pressure.

In a daze, Arwen glanced over at the red cloth, which was heaped with mountains of red. She fought sleep, but the healers' cold hands, albeit covered in her blood held both sides of Arwen's face. Between the relief of the coldness on her fevered face, the welcome heat from the fire, the sweet scent, the feel of the cloth on the wound, and the comfort the potion gave the pain and weariness, Arwen couldn't hold out.

She went limp and feel into a deep sleep, filled with only the chanting of Belelia in the edges of her mind. She was peaceful and safe again.

Aragorn

The group sat or stood on the shores. There was a river. The huge tree's roots reached out to the water, making fine benches.

But Aragorn couldn't sit down. Gimili was on the opposite side of the grove, obviously still hating Legolas.

Then there was a scream. It was utterly heart reaching, and Aragorn whipped around to the hollow where they had made 'camp'. Legolas put a hand on his shoulder.

"It has festered. We bound it, and removing the bindings will hurt." Legolas tried to soothe Aragorn, and the king was ashamed to admit, it kind of worked. Aragorn nodded and sat down on the root next to Legolas.

Gimili kind of wattled over a few minutes later and sat down next to Legolas. The elf prince looked down at the dwarf, and the bearded man looked up with sad, deep, brown eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Me as well."

Tauriel smiled, and Aragorn could see where this was going, but he kind of let it happen. In fact, he prompted it.

He gently nudged Legolas and he looked up at Tauriel and blushed and looked away. That made Aragorn chuckle, which in turn made Legolas walk off.

Tauriel and Aragorn covered their mouths and bit their tongues, but laughed anyway. Legolas was obviously nervous being back here, he sat on a stump a few feet away, and with his hands on his knees closed his eyes and stooped and took deep breaths. That only made them loose their control and break out laughing.

The gentle flowing of the river calmed everyone, and the elves and men, besides Faramir, Legolas, Gimili, Aragorn, and Tauriel, took of their mail and leather and shoes and dipped their feet. A lot of people bathed and swam in this river, which is why Galadriel cautioned them against drinking out of any natural pool.

Eventually, they all stripped non-cloths items off and made piles around the base of their trees. The way Legolas and Tauriel dressed had to be uncomfortable.

Tauriel wore a tight leather vest and a green shirt underneath with fine leather gauntlets and a belt that held up the spliced skirt with green pants and knee high boots. Legolas wore much the same, but the skirt was more spliced, closer to two pieces of cloth tied on opposite sides of the waist, and no leather vest nor gauntlets and boots that went to mid-shin instead of just below the knee.

Legolas stared at Tauriel, sitting at the river side laughing with another of her Silven Elf friends, swinging their legs back and forth through the water gently.

"Why don't you go talk to her?" Aragorn broke Legolas.

"Thranduil." Legolas said, as if his father's name was an answer. And it actually was. A sad one, but true all the same. Aragorn nodded slowly, understanding.

Hours passed when Galadrial walked down the steps to their small grove.

"My Elves can clean your clothing and mail and leather and weapons. I will provide you with cloths of my people for a few hours while they are cleaned, and you can feast with us."

Aragorn stood and faces Galadriel, Tauriel behind him, barefoot. "You can take our cloths and leather, but we care for our weapons. As for a feast, we would be most pleased."

Galadrail bowed her head and turned around and said something in elvish. Cloths were brought forth and handed to each individual.

There were 8 hollows, one of which was in use, so each took a turn in the seven hollows.

When Aragorn held up the cloths, he realized he was in trouble. The pants were easy enough, silver, and the surcoat was silver as well. The edges of the coat went all the way to the place just above his knees. There was a wrought silver decoration that held the collar in place, and the sleeved cloak was gray. He brushed his hair and with a fresh bowl of water tied the fronts back to expose his face.

When he stepped back into the clearing, Tauriel and Legolas were still waiting, but Tauriel burst into laughter at the sight of Aragorn, and Legolas smiled, fighting his laughter.

"What?" Aragorn asked looking down at himself.

When he saw the seams, he knew he made a mistake. He blushed and rushed back to the hollow.

When he emerged, he could see Legolas firmly blushing as Tauriel brushed the tangles out of his hair, and the he though Gimili was going to die. They still weren't dressed, but for the long-haired elves it made sense to do wet and brush their hair first.

The red haired elf patted his shoulder and said "Go get dressed." In Legolas' haste to leave, he choked on his air and tumbled off spluttering. Tauriel shook her head, then bent down and stuck it in the water. She undid and brushed her own hair away from everybody else's vision.

When she came back from the hollow, she was glimmering in a beautiful gown of silver with the sleeved cloak of grey. Aragorn could hear Legolas' breath catch in his throat as he looked away blushing.

Gimili looked about as happy as Tauriel removed from cloths that were stealthy for battle. Most of the Silven Elves and Guards wore a scowl upon their face, but as the night would go on, even Gimili would lose his distain.

Two silver haired elves led the group to a large table, where Galadriel and Brydda shared the head. Tauriel was sat next to Galadriel, with her Silven Elves trailing down the table. Galadriel had a strange fascination in her. Aragorn was set next to Bydda, Legolas, Gimili, Faramir, and the three other guards trailed down his side of the table.

The group feasted on breads and cheeses and meats and fruits and got drunk on sweet wine. It was clear Legolas wasn't really drunk often, the way he glanced around squinting after a few cups. That, or his blood was strong. Considering he'd taken nearly 20 cups and just now seemed to be feeling strange suggested his blood was strong.

The Silven Elves got pretty drunk, but not so drunk as Gimili, the poor dwarf, who didn't really know when to stop. Faramir and his guards laughed and told tales and sang merry songs. Aragorn even jumped in on a few. Gimili sat and ate and drank and burped (but didn't apologize, that Legolas did for him).

Tauriel's smile was gold, add the way Legolas turned up the edges of his lips just slightly, the way Gimili chuckled.

It made Aragorn forget about Arwen.

Legolas

The feasted for a long time, until their cloths were fresh. Legolas was hardly drunk, but feeling a bit fuzzy.

Everything and everyone seemed so loud and bright and it hurt Legolas' head. He wanted to stay to see Tauriel's smiles and hear her laughs, but he was extremely tired, and the silver garment was irksome and embarrassing to an elf of Mirkwood.

He begged leave from the table and went and changed in a hollow.

Back in comfortable clothing, Legolas walked along the river, back and forth, forth and back, swinging a dagger he hadn't even realized he had grabbed idly.

The pavilion had been hot with bodies and fire and food and wine, while everything down here was cool. It chilled Legolas, but reminded him of home somehow. But there was one thing missing.

It made him angry. He didn't realize it, but there was a terrible boiling rage, and the feeling of something missing or lost overwhelmed him. The trees, he realized. Everywhere he went when there was a tree, they spoke to him. They whispered to him. Even in Fangorn, the trees sent news and tidings. But there were trees all around, life everywhere, but it did not speak.

On celebration nights, he had oft become some level of drunk, but the trees still whispered to him. Here they were silent, and he wasn't even weary by wine.

Before he realized what he was doing, he spun from the water, and will a terrible battle cry that echoed the forest, let go of his dagger. It went flying and spinning towards and tree. He also didn't notice Aragorn had walked up, and with another cry Legolas shrunk to his knees.

Aragorn looked at the blade that nearly took of his head and stepped under it to Legolas. He had just returned and dressed in his old cloths, when he heard clumsy footsteps. Aragorn knew Legolas wasn't drunk, but he did know there was something wrong.

Legolas felt hands on his shoulders pulling him up, and he raised his head to see Aragorn, but his friend seemed far away through his tear-stained eyes.

"What's matter, Legolas?" Aragorn asked, sitting on the root close to the elf.

"The trees are silent." He wailed. "Every tree whispers to me but these ones. They have no souls." Legolas pushed a strand of Silver-gold hair back that had fallen in his fit. He took deep breaths. "My apologies."

Aragorn scooted over, inviting Leoglas to sit near him. The Elf Prince climbed to his feet warily and sat down on the root.

"Even in the plaints, there were living things to speak to me, but here it is as if these things are not truly here." Legolas sighed, calming his breathing. He put his face in his hands. "My head is empty."

"The forest is fine, and so is everyone in it." Aragorn replied.

"There are orcs, heading north. How can you know it, if the trees can't tell it." Legolas fought another wail.

"I can't. But I know Mirkwood, and you do better than I. You know very well Mirkwood won't stand being pulled up from the roots."

Legolas nodded, and he could hear some of the Silven Elves approaching. He went to the river and scrubbed his face and smoothed his tunic.

He played that he was fine, but his head still hurt and throbbed where the trees were missing.

Legolas pulled the dagger from the tree and slid it in its scabbard.

He nodded at Aragorn and conveyed his thanks and apologies again, and went north along the river to the hollows.

Arwen

The strength seemed to have flowed back to whilst she had been asleep. Her eyes opened, and the healer helped her sit and lean against the tree.

Aragorn peered in, and smiled when he saw her. He raced forward, in his old cloths that she recognized as him. He leaned against the trunk next to her, and smiled.

"Thank you." Aragorn said in the Elvish tongue.

The healer smiled wearily, and collapsed herself. "This is a poison as of such I have never seen. I fear my potions may not be enough." She replied in the same tongue.

"You have helped her for now. Elrond with doubtlessly have more skills." Aragorn replied, still speaking in elvish.

"I will return every four hours to change the bandage. Please keep the pot over the fire, the potion must stay near boiling, the herbs as such I have used are rare and delicate." The healer bowed and took her leave, past Legolas walking in, tossing "If you have food, she may eat and drink, but gentle wine only."

Legolas had joy written all in his face at her sitting, and raced over to Arwen as well sitting on the left side. The Prince of Mirkwood was grinning ear to ear, instead of being his usual conservative self.

Arwen rested a hand on his. "I know the trees do not whisper, but do not fret Legolas. We will soon return to Rivendell, home of my Father. There the trees speak, maybe even too much." Arwen smiled, and Legolas did too, just a bit.

Aragorn clasped her right hand, and nuzzled her neck gently, and Arwen smiled and nosed back.

Moments later, Faramir came in, looking rather distressed. He smiled and kissed Arwen lightly on the cheek, then turned to Legolas with a frown.

"Your dwarf is causing trouble. You must fetch him." Legolas paled, but huffed as he stood and walked out. "Why is it that whenever Gimili ever misbehaves, he is my dwarf?"

"I could use some bread and wine!" Arwen called after him, and Legolas nodded grimly. Smiling, Arwen turned to Faramir.

"What exactly did little Gimili do?"

Faramir flushed and walked to the opposite side of the hollow.

"You're kidding." Aragorn groaned.

Faramir shook his head vigorously, turning a deeper red.

"No…." Arwen sighed. Gimili was always getting into trouble.

When Legolas came back, he had a dwarf in his arms. Gimili was kicking and screaming and shaking his fist. Legolas was calling apologies in Elvish and flushing. He dumped Gimili on the ground, and the dwarf looked up, glaring at the Elf. He crossed his arms and pouted on his blankets and Legolas sat down next to Arwen again.

"I am sorry, I could not spare a moment to take food and drink, but Tauriel said she would soon follow with some." Legolas bowed his head.

Arwen giggled, her lungs and chest still felt raw, and patted Legolas' shoulder gently.

Tauriel

Arwen was back. Or at least for a while.

Tauriel pulled back her cloak and handed a full skin of sweet wine, a half-loaf of white bread and a heel of fresh cheese to the Queen of Men. She then unclasped her cloak and pulled it into the corner.

"I must take some air, though I have just come from it." Tauriel said, and turned her back and walked out of the hollow to the river's edge.

The gentle wind blew her red hair gently back from her face, some had been shaken lose. She reached up her hand to fix the fallen strands when she felt a gentle but commanding hand upon her shoulder.

Slowly, her hand lowered back down to her side, and Tauriel's head turned slowly. She wished she had a dagger on her belt.

A tall, thin shape was standing behind her, silver hair flowing, elvish points barely poking out from behind the veil, elegant silver crown atop her brow.

At the sight of Queen Galadriel, Tauriel wished for a dagger even more, though she wouldn't have used it. She just wanted the queen to be frightened.

"Nothing you could throw at me would frighten me." The Queen replied to her thoughts.

Tauriel hated that. Galadriel had one of the three Elvish rings, Thraunduil and Elrond held the other two. The rings of the elves did not work to destroy nor fool nor bring death and sadness, but to strengthen. All three great Elf Kings (and queen) could see into the minds of others, but only Galadriel was devilish enough to judge and convict you based on thoughts.

Even though he did not look it, Thranduil was very kind, though he was icy to those who did not know him.

"What do you wish?" Tauriel sneered.

"To speak." Galadriel let go of Tauriel's shoulder, and stepped back. "You made me a solemn promise."

"I know." Tauriel replied.

"You are restless."

"If I am, it is you who is responsible. You wish to draw me in, but you shall not have me by choice." Tauriel snapped, turning away and walking a few paces downstream, crossing her skinny arms.

Galadriel's face was dominated by an almost sad look.

"Why would that be?"

"The past is gone for a reason, the present happens because it will, and the future is uncertain. Anyone who deems they can play with the flow of times is ignorant."

"Are my abilities so different from your own?" Galadriel responded, crossing her arms behind her back.

"What abilities do you have?"

"The abilities to see through time. Select few can, and where you are from depends on who you are. The elves of Mirkwood can hear through time, those of Rivendell dream through it, so why is it that when I can see through it, it is scorned so?"

"Because only you should see it. You share it freely, but not all can handle it."

"I share my abilities with those who are willing. When they are drawn, they must have need to see something. Deep inside, all true followers seeks news of something.

"t is true few can bear the weight. Even elves have trouble keeping firm upon their feet. I myself do. All those who can bend time feel a strain.

"Thranduil, even Legolas suffer. You yourself might not feel the deep wounds time incised upon the brain, but the trees still have much to tell."

"Why did you make me promise to look?" Tauriel asked, becoming weary of upholding such a true hatred of one who no longer truly deserved it.

"You are strong, and so is Legolas. You tell yourselves you do not wish to look, but all travelers, even Princes and future Princesses must crave to learn something from some time. I made you an empty promise, but I wished to strike the curiosity, to help it rise to the surface."

Tauriel turned about to look out across the river again.

Galadriel was right. There were some things she could do to know. The trees here did not whisper, and she could feel the weariness and near utter panic in the other elves of Mirkwood. Legolas hungered from some news from his father, and if truth be told, Tauriel wouldn't mind.

"This restlessness you are feeling comes from the anxiety produced by your own body." Galadriel said as she turned and walked back to the earthen steps.

The queen of the forest was half way up the steps when Tauriel wheeled about with a call. Galadriel looked back over her shoulder at the conflicted Silven Elf. "I wish to look upon the mirror."

"You search for an answer Legolas himself could easily answer." Galadriel warned.

"No. I must know more. A single yes or no cannot pretend to suffice. I wish to glimpse the unknown for a taste of my future." Tauriel had a single mind. It had shifted from avoiding Galadriel's mirror at all costs, to not leaving without a single look.

"Perhaps you will not like what you glimpse." Galadriel smiled sadly.

"Frodo didn't like what he saw, yet it never happened. Perhaps what I do not like can be avoided."

"Aragorn's friend Boromir did nothing about his fate because he could not. My mirror shan't be the decider of difficult matters. Let it not steer your path, but illuminate it." Galadriel warned.

"This I shall do." Tauriel responded, straightening her back.

"Good. You must come to me later, whilst the night lays heavy over the trees, whilst your friends are wrapped in slumber as tight as they would be wrapped in the web of a spider, whilst the moonlight glints off the waters of my mirror and my power is strongest." Galadriel instructed.

"This I shall do." Tauriel promised, turning back to the water, staring enchanted across the gentle ripples.

Arwen

She felt strong. It had seemed a long while since she had been able to eat and drink comfortably. It was a wonderful change, everyone was merry for she was awake and alive.

Arwen had seen something in her sleep.

She had foreseen her last days.

Panic had gripped her, just like it had the first time she'd dreamt her future.

She hadn't been ten yet. Just a child with ebony hair and eyes. Her voice had been less gentle, for she had seen less sorrows.

In her dream, the young Arwen had seen the death of a hawk she had cared for, for three years. His wing had an arrow head pierced through from an insolent healer. Arwen had named it Quel, the elvish word for good. Quel would often flit back to Rivendell, and had become one of Arwen's fast friends. He seemed to understand her. As a child, Arwen had been able to say that it was just a dream, but when she awoke, her hawk was laying dying, and soon perished before she could get Quel to Elrond.

The king of Rivendell had found his daughter siting on a bench outside his bed chambers, clutching something in her hands and weeping bitterly. When Elrond had stooped, put his hand under her chin and gently lifter her face to his, she said "It was only supposed to be a dream." And cried into Elrond's shoulder over the loss of Quel.

When she had been calmed and ate a bit of bread and cheese and a piece of fruit, Elrond found her siting on the still of her window, looking out into the yard.

When Elrond had neared his daughter, she turned and said "It was only supposed to be a dream. But when I awoke, Quel was really dead." Elrond had sat down across from her, and smoothed her thick hair back from her face.

"You know that I sometimes know things that you could swear I shouldn't?" Elrond asked, and Arwen had nodded. "It is because when I dream, sometimes I see things that are true of time."

Arwen had marveled. In her studies in the hall, she'd found a book about the Sight, and Elrond's name had been mentioned. Back then, she hadn't understood, and Elrond had only replied with "One day it might become clear."

And now it had, though Arwen doubted it at first. She had been afraid when she saw the death of her mother, and it had turned true.

When she had been young, her sight had been only a burden, and the coming of it painful. Arwen had fought sleep and drink and run from everyone, and every touch had stung like fire. Her emotions seemed to roil in her stomach and beg to burst forward. They often had.

As Arwen turned eleven, the pains had become worse, the dreams terrible, the sights more detailed. When she awoke one night, she had run crying to Elrond. She had dreamed his terrible murder, and huddled close to him for nearly four weeks, even though her skin seemed to reject every touch. Any regular dreams she'd had before ceased to be as the Sight took over her mind, and it stung her.

Elrond told her these deep pains would not last forever, that she was simply growing up. Arwen had wanted to grow up about as much as she wanted to die right now. She'd rathered she'd stayed a small girl without the Sight, for it hung heavy over her mind and hadn't faded with the coming of her womanhood, her 100th year, or any year after that. Becoming a mortal didn't dull the sight, not even death stopped it.

Her sight had been wrong four times, and she had a feeling this wouldn't be the fifth. All she heard was through a fog, her slow exhale Arwen knew soon to be her last, Elrond's shaking sides, his face bitter with tears. Aragorn storming away, the far off scream of Faramir, the dull clunk of Gimili throwing down his axe. Her dreaming form followed, and saw even Tauriel crying. Tauriel, who never cried.

She hadn't seen much before her Sight faded for the night

And the one thing Arwen could clearly see: she wasn't going to make it. But then again, who'd ever had hopes she would?

Tauriel

She couldn't rest. Galadriel had been right; there was something inside of her screaming to meet the mirror. Legolas seemed to feel she was tense, and he didn't go to sleep either. Aragorn thought Legolas was sleepless himself, so he remained awake.

When she sighed, Legolas looked at her knowingly. Aragorn just mainly looked puzzled, as if he were waiting for them to ask for him to sleep himself.

"Would you be waiting for something, Legolas?" Tauriel asked.

"Not as such." The elf prince replied. That was it. Tauriel was done.

She stood and walked to the door of the hollow that was being guarded by Legolas. She bulled him over, and once she stood on the other side of the opening to the hollow hissed "You're holding me in! I will not be held captive. If I can't sleep, it's because your vigil is making me restless!" Tauriel turned and stocked off. Maybe Legolas just wanted the best for her, maybe he'd seen her talking with Galadriel. Maybe he just wanted to be there for her, but didn't truly know how.

Her shoulders sagged at these thoughts, and she halfheartedly wandered to the water. Something in her boiled, but also wondered, whilst weeping.

Tauriel climbed the earthen steps from the grove where the party was residing and walked along the natural hall. Her feet seemed to be drawn somewhere, though she didn't know where to find Galadriel at this high time of night.

The trees loomed over head, and a single star seemed to burn bright over a missing clump of the unnatural trees. Her gut told her there.

And there she went.

Legolas

He sat slumped against the edge of the doorway. Aragorn patted his shoulder, but looked at him with grueling eyes.

"I just wanted to speak to her. Galadriel enchants near all, and brings them to danger quite easily with visions in her mirror. I did not want her to seek a similar path, but not to speak of such in front of her friends." Legolas whispered.

Aragorn nodded, suddenly understanding. The Mirror of Galadriel could change so much, and oft times not for the greater. He himself had become afraid, and we shalt not speak of Boromir yet again.

Legolas grabbed a cup and poured out some wine for himself. The healer had come and gone every four hours since she had first left Arwen, and each time a new bandage with fresh potion was applied, the Queen of Men seemed to get stronger.

Something in Legolas told him it would not last, and the fires and the wine and the laughs would quickly die with her, and something in his gut screamed and her pain and her suffering. Though it would not be mercy to kill her now, Legolas almost wanted to, for her screams pierced his heart like the head of an arrow itself.

Aragorn oft thought the same. Legolas could tell by that far off look he would get when he looked at her. A sadness at her suffering, but a sadness to her end.

But right now, all Legolas could think of was Tauriel, possibly walking into terrible danger.

Tauriel

She felt like she was walking in a dream of one fevered.

There was a clearing, and in the middle, Galadriel stood, next to her mirror. She was beautiful, the starlight gleamed off of her silver hair.

"You came, Tauriel, daughter of the Woodland Realm." She spoke in elvish, so Tauriel replied in her own language.

"Of course."

Galadriel beckoned, and Tauriel stepped close to the edge of the water. Galadriel rested a slender hand on Tauriel's upper back, right between her shoulder blades, as if supporting her. "Is a glimpse still your wish, Captain of the Mirkwood Guard?"

Tauriel nodded, and Galadriel turned her gently to the mirror. Suddenly her stomach roiled, and she grasped the edges of the mirror.

"Do not touch the water, or you shall shatter." Galadriel whispered and Tauriel turned her face gently to the water.

It was near opaque, reflecting the light of the stars and the Beauty of Galadriel next to her own pale face.

Suddenly, the water shimmered as if it had been disturbed by a pebble.

She was back in the forest, Mirkwood. It was as if she had the form of one who is lost until they perish, she couldn't disturb anything.

Tauriel saw herself, laying against a tree, legs sprawled out in the dirt. She was in a gentle sleep, her face leaned upwards toward the gentle rays of sun that barely filtered through the tops of the trees.

There was a plain joy on her face, though her ghost self couldn't feel anything. It was a strange sensation, not feeling anything but the gentle heat of Galadriel's hand firmly on her back in the waking world.

There was a tall and well-built shadow on the side of her vision, walking towards the sleeping form of the Silven Elf. It was Legolas. He kneeled next to her sleeping form on the dirt, and, cupping her chin, kissed her. Tauriel smiled her devilish smile, and wrapped her arms around Legolas, pulling him closer.

Suddenly the image shattered, and Mirkwood was dark. She was wandering Thranduil's halls, when she heard a strangled sob. Tauriel recognized it as Legolas. Her feet hit the ground, and the faint sounds echoed among the cavernous halls. She pushed open a door, and peeked in the room before stepping in.

Legolas was kneeling in front of his father's throne. Something inside Tauriel told her something bad had happened to Thranduil.

Future her walked towards him gently, wrapping her arms around Legolas from his side. The elven prince laid his head on the princess' shoulder, and wept into her.

Again, the glass shimmered and vanished to a new scene. There was blackness all around Tauriel, she was screaming and falling, down, down, down.

Legolas' paled face was looking over the side of a cliff, tears falling from his pale blue eyes, his hand outstretched over the edge. Tauriel felt a floating sensation, and she was back in her body, but still dreaming. Her hand groped out for Legolas, and she smacked the ground full on.

Galadriel's hand was gone, and she fell away from the portal through time.

The real ground rushed up to meet her, and she kept falling, long after her head hit the ground so hard blood sprang from her nose and mouth, her body jarred and shaken, her limbs all around her, hair undone and spread like a halo about her head.

"Legolas." She whispered.

Legolas

Something jarred Legolas out of his sleep, and up to his feet, and he rushed out of the hollow. His feet seemed to be going somewhere, though where, he could not say.

Legolas came to a clearing. The mirror of Galadriel stood in the center, the queen herself next to it, her hand stirring the water. Tauriel lay on the ground unconscious, spread eagled and steady breathing.

Galadriel refused to acknowledge Legolas as he bent down and gathered Tauriel up in his arms, and slowly his feet guided him back to the hollow somehow.

Aragorn was up with the healer just leaving when Legolas came back, and ran up to meet the elf prince.

"What had happened?"

"Galadriel will not speak." Legolas replied bitterly.

He set her down and kneeled at her side. Aragorn leaned against the edge of the entrance to the hollow and watched his friend.

Legolas had always been shy towards Tauriel, but he loved her and cared for her deeply.

Legolas could feel Aragorn's eyes boring into his back, and he stole a quick kiss to Tauriel's brow and swiftly walked out of the hollow. He tried to find where the mirror was, but his feet would not lead him.

"The Mirror can only be found by those that want to seek it for knowledge" He herd Galadriel's voice and whirled to meet it.

"You."

"Me." Galadriel smiled.

"Do not think to make this a jest!" Legolas sneered.

"Make a jest of what?"

"You know what. You lured Tauriel into your trap!" Legolas accused.

Galadriel shook her head. "I did not lure your friend into anything. She came of her own will."

"How am I supposed to believe that?"

"You don't have to coming from me, but just ask her on the morrow. She will tell you it true."

"I plan she will."

Arwen

Legolas and Tauriel seemed tense around each other, but if Galadriel was bothered by it, she sure didn't show it.

Arwen was up and about for the first time since the fall of the year before, and it seemed like years to her mortal body since she had gotten shot.

But now she was feasting at the great table of Brydda and Galadriel. Celeborn had died years ago in battle against the orcs for Minas Tirith.

She ate past her fill gobbling down sweet breads with honey comb and fruits from the ripe trees and drinking sweet wine. The eagles had returned, and they were setting out for Rivendell to finish her healing.

The Silven Elves were drinking and eating and laughing, and Gimili had even forgotten his hatred of elves for the beauty of Galadriel. Aragorn kissed her cheek and grinned, taking a sip and bite of comb. Honey made everyone's fingers stick, but the elves didn't seem to mind. For Legolas and the Woodland elves, they seemed almost calmed, as if the honey was the sap of their trees.

The eagles themselves stood on the edges of the eave and ate their catch.

The feast could have never ended, and when the stars began to peek out from the daylight and shine off the silver hair of elves of Lorien, the golden hair of Legolas, and brighten the fire in the hair of the Silven elves, the King of Eagles insist they head off.

"Four days flight will only be made longer by delay. My brethren can hold nearly three elves each. I shall carry the Lord and Lady Aragorn and Arwen, the elf prince Legolas, and the dwarf king Gimili on my back."

Aragorn boosted her onto the back of the eagle king and came up behind her, wrapping his thick arms about her delicate waste. Legolas hopped up on his own, hardly touching Aragorn to stay mounted, and stretched his elven arm down to Gimili. No matter how far Legolas stretched, how close to the ground the eagle king got, and how hard Gimili tried, they couldn't get him up.

Eventually Tauriel and another Silven elf went to their aid, and pushed Gimili up from the ground while Legolas pulled. The Eagle King drew to full height and shook his wings restlessly. Gimili grasped onto Legolas furiously, for if the dwarf felt far from the ground on just a horse, how he must have felt now Arwen could hardly fathom.

Arwen held her breath not out of fear, but of excitement, as the Eagle King flapped his huge wings and took flight out of the still air of the forest of Lorien to the gentle breeze that skimmed the tops of the trees.

If the golden and silver leaves had been breathtaking from underneath the canopy, you had never truly seen the beauty of the forest. Arwen caught her breath as the other eagles came into fall behind their king. The branched from the forest reached out, as if from a hug that's warmth was slowly fading, and the trees didn't want to see them go. The moon was visible, full and rising in the sky, the stars coming out to glisten on the air of the elves and companions around her and the silky feathers of the Eagles.

Aragorn was holding on to her, his chin was on her shoulder, and for a second he nuzzled her neck. Arwen smiled and straightened her back, holding her head high. The cool air blew her thick black hair back and cooled her brow that had been so fevered lately.

She could hear Legolas breathing heavily. He himself was a swift runner and a great rider, but had never ridden an eagle before. The ground was alarmingly far below them. If they fell, they'd die of fright before they even hit the ground.

Gimili was murmuring and breathing heavily and cursing and clutching to Legolas.

A few paces back, Arwen could hear Faramir nearly weeping, but Tauriel was laughing, not even holding on. "Do you need me to sit in the front?" Tauriel teased.

On the ground, Faramir was much more bold, and had insisted to sit the front. By his pale face, Arwen could tell he'd made a grave mistake.

The cool air blowing through her hair and on her face never tired her. She didn't feel scared or alone until one of the guards flew, as if pushed, from his eagle and she saw orc fletching sticking from his back as he fell down, screaming. There was a thump as his body me a snowcapped mountain.

Everything was beginning to fall to pieces, inside of Arwen and outside.

Legolas

He heard Tauriel scream, but not pain. She screamed orders. "Elves of Mirkwood, Draw your bows!"

The eagles all around came alive with the drawing of bows, the tensing of strings, the knocking of arrows. Each elf had more than one arrow on their yew bows, Tauriel and Legolas five.

"Aim!" She screamed. The Eagles maneuvered to keep the steadfast elves in a near direct line of sight.

What Legolas saw on the mountain passes and between the trees and on the ridges was a full host, 50 thousand at least, swarming. Most had swords, but nearly 2 thousand had bows, and were firing arrows. A Silven Elf saw an arrow coming right toward him, and so did Tauriel. "FIRE"

Hundreds of arrows shot down from the back of the eagles. The one eagle baring the Silven Elf in direct sight couldn't move in time, and the Silven Elf with hair of fire from Mirkwood was shot from the eagle back, an arrow piercing her chest. It had ended the power of the strong elven heart.

The eagles swooped about. All 100 eagles were escorting, so not all had passengers. This turned out to be good.

Legolas saw them pull their wings in tight to their bodies and plummet. The Orcs hadn't been expecting this, so when the eagles got to the bottom and spread their wings wide so as not to hit the ground, they screamed in total terror. The eagles would swipe their talons across the legions, or grab whole talon fulls and fly back up to the clouds, where they would let their cargo go, screaming. The flying orcs would hit others of their legion and force of impact would kill them both, or more.

Elves flying on the back of eagles shot two, maybe three arrows at a time. Orcs were falling, but more and more were streaming across the lines, out of surrounding hills. While they picked of hundred, thousands more joined the legion of the 50 thousand Legolas had estimated. There were now closer to 100 thousand, more streaming in.

"Aren't we flying over Moria?" Legolas asked Gimili.

"Yes. But my people lock the doors."

"They can surly hear the screams!" Legolas yelled over the wind at their eagle plummeted and ripped a tree from the ground with his powerful screams.

"Yes, but they are only 60 dwarf. They would hold no hope of helping, but doubtless sent their people deeper into the mines. If we are going to count on anything, we'll have to count on elves."

Aragorn heard, and looked back at Legolas.

"Cease your bow fire for only a moment, and call to Faramir and Tauriel. Tell them to hasten to Rivendell and send word of a massing host of orcs moving closer with every second. Tell Elrond his daughter is caught in the middle of this."

Legolas called the information, and the king of eagles told the mount of Legolas' friends to show haste to Rivendell. Tauriel put away her bow, and Faramir held white knuckled to the eagles feathers. Tauriel's hands were on Faramir's knees, and she was holding on as well as she could as her eagle fell to the ground. It came closer to the orcs, and it dragged it talons on the ground. Rivers could be formed, and probably would the next time the snow fell and melted again.

Legolas saw the messenger eagle fly back out of bow range with half a hundred arrows. Looking around, he realized how many eagles would die, not from point, but from the poison.

The king was swiping the orcs with the tree in his talons, using it like a sword. An orc torch had caught a branch, and now orcs everywhere were shrieking, being burned alive slowly. Arrows didn't pierce the king of eagles, and for this, Legolas was grateful.

He saw a Silven elf take an arrow right where Arwen had months ago, but didn't fall. He kept shooting three and four arrows. Several elves had drawn blades and stuck their arms to the sides to cut down orcs as their eagles talons created small valleys.

"Aragorn!" Legolas called over the wind.

"I have no arrows!"

"Time to grab flaming branched from the trees!" The king replied, pointing to Gimili, who was starting a fire across the whole mountain side.

Eagles swooped up from the ground, screaming in fear as the blazing fires. One by one, they began to pull of burning trees, and distribute them among the orcs. One elf was shaken off in fear, a red haired one, but the eagle king dove closer to the fire than any of his subjects would to grasp the elf, singing his feathers but not starting a fire.

Legolas and Gimili pulled flaming branched from trees their eagle flew close to, burning their hands but also burning orcs alive.

Gimili's Auburn bear was singed and slowly simpering, but the dwarf either didn't notice or didn't care.

Legolas could feel burning all around him, so hot it was maybe inside of him.

Tauriel

When the eagle guide landed, she thought Faramir was going to hit the ground.

Elf bowman drew their bows, but then Tauriel called for Elrond.

The father of Arwen stepped from his chamber into the courtyard, a look of worry on his lined face. "Tauriel, Daughter of the Woodland realm."

"Elrond, holder of a ring and hoster of generous tables." Tauriel bowed slightly. "There is a orc host, near 200 thousand at my last count, and more thousands come every moment we are idle. The Silven Elves, a few guards of Faramir of the house of Minas Tirith, Prince Legolas, Axeman Gimili, King Aragorn and his Queen Arwen were flying from Lothlorien to Rivendell aboard the kind eagles of the mountains.

"Arwen has been gravely injured, and is doing better since our arrival at Lothlorien, but if we do not get her here, she may die from an arrow wound took in Minas Tirith.

"The host is small, all the last of the eagles are fighting and probably dying at this moment.

"We must needs assistance in order to bring Arwen Queen home to Elrond in Rivendell to save her Mortal Life."

Elrond looked troubled, but summoned Lindir to go and gather all the forces they could.

"And, could I trouble you so as to get a horse for Faramir, the weary of flying?"

Elrond smiled, Faramir blushed, and another horse was with the host.

"GO! RIDE TO BATTLE!" Elrond screamed. The elves gave a terrible battle cry, spurred the horses, and were off, Faramir in the lead.

Tauriel rode the eagle proudly, flying in lazy circles over the host, but yet still moving with great haste. She knew Arwen's life rested on this battle, and so did Legolas'.

Aragorn

He fitted arrow after arrow into his bow, shooting, shooting, forever shooting. Arwen was clutching on to the Kind of Eagles, her face not pale, but her hands shaking.

"My dream." She murmured in her soft gentle voice. "Our setting out has not saved us, but mayhaps killed us."

Aragorn's stomach dropped at those words. He was angry for only a fleeting moment, when he realized if that had been his dream, the company would have made haste as well.

He ran out of arrows, and grasped the feather of an eagle. He put his feet on the flank of the bird and leaned dangerously over the edge. His right hand stretched, stretched, stretched until he felt a burning sensation. The warmth crept up and over his body, like a fresh rain after a draught.

He pulled and nearly half the tree came up with him. The eagle screamed as his feathers were singed while Aragorn went back into a sitting position. He pulled branches off and flung them, burning, into the churning mass of orcs streaming over the mountaintops and down across the valleys imprinted in the land by the giant eagle's talons as they swept down to kidnap the orcs.

Aragorn's sleeve caught fire, and he dropped the remaining bits of the firing, churning mass of the tree into the crowd.

There was a deep pain roaring up his body, blending his brain in a spiraling vortex of pain as the fire consumed his sleeve and biting at his cloak and licking his leather and kissing his chain mail.

Aragorn tried not to look down as he swatted his arm trying to put out the totally consuming fire. He had to look when he felt a cool blood and a thin membrane stick to his hand and stretch and pull off. Legolas saw him struggling to control the fire and ripped off his cloak to douse the flame.

Aragorn took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He felt a sting of tears against his face, and he sniffled.

Arwen took his smoldering arm over her shoulder and held onto it fiercely yet gently to help control Aragorn's breathing.

Legolas grasped his shoulder as the elf prince grasped a tree and started where Aragorn had left off, hurtling burning sticks down towards the churning mass of orc. Gimili was helping, though his beard was being burned away slowly.

The dwarf was chopping at the orcs when their eagle played too close to the ground, spinning and screeching as arrows pierced his thick and soft feathers.

Aragorn still felt like he was on fire, but he was determined to stay awake and help when he heard Gimili shriek and bury his face in Legolas' back, between his shoulder blades.

Even Arwen was helping, throwing dead and kindling branches with her good hand, while her bad hand clutched onto Aragorn's burning one.

The king of men's strength was failing him, and all he did was hand up burning branches for Arwen to throw into the fray.

Nearby an eagle, without any riders, called in pain. His wings locked into his sides and he began to plummet, poison arrows piercing him in the neck, feet, and areas of his wings closest to his body, not to mention his chest. His sister flapped her huge wings as hard as she could, and reached out her talons. She managed to grab him, but her wings could not bear them both. The dead weight was pulling them down, down, down to the ground, but the sister wouldn't leave the brother, even if this fall would kill her.

She would die with the eagle she'd hatched with.

The she-eagle knew there was no way to pull them back out, so she spread her wings. The wind dragged against them, but the falling didn't slow. "Might as well take orcs with us."

The friction tore at the joints holding the wings to her body, and she was panting hard, fighting back screams of agony as arrows pierces the spots the wind was exposing.

They hit the ground. The brother brought down a lot of burning trees on top of the orcs, and his body rolled down the mountain, his weight crushing all those that stood in his way. The sister was spread out and took nearly 5 thousand orcs with her. She had been one of the biggest birds, five times a mother.

Her mate shrieked angrily and hurtled himself at the ground, but pulled up last minute.

"We can only go high." Aragorn breathed. "We must go above the clouds!"

The king eagle shrieked a command to rise up, and every eagle did.

All those fighting with fire dropped their weapons, some Silven Elves a few last flaming arrows. The eagles soared high up kin the feather clouds, where it was freezing.

Arwen wrapped herself more firmly in her cloak, while Aragorn was kept warm by the retaining memory of flame on his bare skin. Aragorn took deep breaths of the cool, fresh air and looked around. All 100 or so eagles that had come, the whole race of these creatures, 87 remained. Faramir's guards had been felled, a few elves had minor injuries, but the majority had serious burns across whole limbs.

"Is there an Eyre anywhere close, somewhere to perch were only flying things can reach?"

"A half hour's journey or so forward." The eagle king replied. "We must rest, your people need it just as much, if not more, than mine."

"Yes."

Another eagle came flying close, a limp form on its back in front of another elf. "The healer is dying. He will not live, nothing we can do."

Aragorn cursed under his breath. "It's going to have to be all you Legolas, since Tauriel left." Legolas nodded grimly.

"Hey, she reached Rivendell, and is on her way back with an army right now." Gimili grumbled.

"Yes, but will she survive the attack?"

Legolas

The Eyre they landed on was a huge precipice, like the spot was carved from out of the side of a mountain, but the mountain had fallen away.

The eagles were nuzzling against each other, preening feathers of those who had loved and lost, pulling arrows gently from each other, comforting the ones already starting to die from the poison.

The elves were singed and burned. Legolas sad on his knees next to Gimili with his knife. "I have to remove your beard so your face can heal." Legolas growled. He was getting tired. "I could be helping Aragorn, or the others, or checking on Arwen's wound."

Gimili grunted and nodded. Legolas leaned in and slid his blade across the dwarves face. Most of the beard had been burned off, but he could use a nice cleaning up. Gimili's face wasn't burned so extensively, and Legolas chewed on a green leaf that he'd found nestled in the edges of the rocks. The elf took the poultice and spread is across Gimili's face, who grunted at having his spit all across his mouth and nose.

Legolas worked every elf: Aragorn refused to go but last.

The elf prince should have insisted he go first, as he had the worst injuries. He was lying with Legolas' cloak to keep him warm.

The elf bent down and pulled the green cloak from his body, revealing twisted and marred skin from hand to shoulder, then from shoulder up to his chin against is neck, a wide span across his chest to his other shoulder, and down to his hips. His cloths were burned away, and only his pants remained, and those were tattered.

Legolas used his cloak, lying Aragorn on the edge. "I must carve away the burned skin." Legolas said and he clasped his knife tightly. Aragorn nodded bravely, whilst Arwen clasped his opposite hand.

The elf put his long hand on Aragorn's stomach and touched the cold tip of his blade to the farthest edge, maybe an inch down the side of the leg. Aragorn sucked in air through his teeth as the elf pressed the dagger into the dead flesh, and fought a cry when it barely touched the muscle around the bone of his leg.

Legolas frowned. The fire had burned deeper than he had thought. "It is dangerous to cut off this much flesh."

"Flesh and mussel grow back- life doesn't. If I must lose much so as not to succumb to the teeth of fire take everything away."

"I will not be able to use the poultice to give comfort- there will only be chunks of burned flesh and an open wound." Legolas warned.

"Take it all."

Legolas nodded and turned away from Aragorn to call over his shoulder. "I need many cloaks."

Everyone but Arwen rushed forward to hand their cloaks, and many eagles pulled soft feathers from their chests that had no use to them anymore and piled them next to Legolas.

Arwen covered the cloaks with plasters of feathers, ready for the injury.

Legolas carved chunks of flesh from Aragorn's leg and side and stomach and chest and arm and shoulder.

Aragorn tried not to scream, but when the eagle assured him that no orc would be able to reach them. After that he fought less hard and shrieked terribly. All of the elves balled up and put their hands on their ears, all except Arwen, who clutched the hand that hadn't been burned.

Tears stained his rugged cheeks, and Legolas plastered the cloaks and feathers over the wounds as tight as he could, though he knew blood would come thick and fast and soak through.

The dying eagles surrendered nearly all their feathers to help stop the bleeding. Legolas pulled the chunks of flesh over the sides of the Eyre, and Aragorn kicked and screamed. Legolas held him down, so he wouldn't hurt himself more than he already was. Eventually, Aragorn fell into a deep, if not slightly fitful, sleep to the bloody sunset on the edges of the Misty Mountains.

Legolas had almost forgotten about Tauriel's danger, but as he set back, after re-binding Arwen's arrow wound after letting it bleed, a sudden pang hit him.

It was almost a fear is was so strong. A fear that not only Tauriel would never come back, but that Arwen and Aragorn would die before they could get to Rivendell, or all the eagles would die and they would be stuck to become bones on this Eyre.

Fear grasped its cold bitter hand around his strong elvish heart in a chock hold, and he felt almost ready to succumb to the grasping fingers.

Arwen

Legolas did the best he could. He knew medicine, but there was nothing to work with here. All the other Elves would be fine, he even cared for the eagles, washing out the poison and letting it bleed out.

Two Silven Elves had died, and the human guards, all except Faramir who had flew to Rivendell, had been shot down.

She winced when Legolas pulled down the shoulder to her gown and gently pulled the linen out of her wound.

"The poison is reasserting itself." Legolas frowned. He patted her knee gently.

Arwen bit her lip and took a deep breath. She was going to die here. Rivendell was going to be attack and destroyed and her father killed. All hope was lost.

Legolas rubbed her shoulder around the wound gently, and when she began to bleed she knew everything was over. Arwen put a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes, fighting back the tears of fear that were welling up.

She knew she was betrayed when she felt Legolas' soft hand against her cheek.

"Do not fret. Elrond will be safe. He has a mighty force marching. We will be saved." Legolas whispered.

She had been sitting on her knees, but at that moment she fell forward into Legolas, her hands over her face. Arwen could feel Legolas hugging her, one hand on her shaking back and another on the back of her head.

"Do not fret." Legolas whispered in Elvish. Arwen wasn't comforted. Fear still grasped her heart and twisted her stomach savagely.

Arwen tried not to cry but the tears kept coming, savagely, ripping and tearing the flesh of her cheeks in such a manner she swore she would be crying blood if the tears were swords.

Everything inside of her heart. The dying, the being stuck, the Aragorn fatally injured, an army of orcs a little too close to her father in Rivendell. Her tears were fuelled by a fire of sadness that burned inside like a fire inside a hearth.

Arwen's body wasn't the only thing dying.

Aragorn

He fell into darkness and tumbled.

Down.

Down.

Down.

Down.

Down.

Down.

Down.

Faster and faster and deeper and deeper.

Darkness swirled and surrounded. It enveloped Aragorn like a fine cloak, only it wasn't soft. It was sharp, its clawed hands shredded his skin and crushed his chest. It was constricting, tighter, tighter, tighter. He couldn't breathe, he was struggling but he couldn't give up. The smell of Arwen was surrounding, the only comforting thing about this falling.

Legolas' gentle, elvish voice found him at times. Aragorn could feel his companion's hands on his shoulder, holding him down as he fought to get in a new position that would make it easier to breathe.

He could feel that part of him was missing. Not metaphorically, literally.

But the ghost flesh burned with a heat he never had felt before. Like he was being eaten alive, only from the inside out.

_Dragon fire. _

But he would be dead if it was dragon fire.

This is what it felt like to die, he knew. How could Arwen stand it, this dying? How could she not just give up?

That answer was inside itself easy to answer. The same way he kept trying. Why he struggled to breath, why he tried to move, why he didn't just go to sleep.

Because he had so much yet to live for.

He knew Legolas could tell he couldn't breathe. It was welcome when Arwen leaned over him and lent him a breath of fresh air.

He struggled and fought but nothing helped.

This was what it felt like to die. This would be his last sensation.

Tauriel

The orcs were moving like a huge river with massing legs through the fire. They didn't fear death, they walked right into the flames and screamed at the top of their lungs until those too were incinerated.

It was terrible. The southern orcs were streaming over a few dead bodies of the eagles, pulling out their feathers and bending down to tear raw flesh with sharp fangs.

The eagle under her bristled and shook slightly, but spiraled down to start the attack.

The elves behind her called their war cry and folded into the forces. She saw Faramir thrown from his horse, but mounting another one.

The horses from Rivendell fought, so nearly seven thousand without a rider had made the journey with the army of eleven thousand more elf warriors from Rivendell.

The elves south had come up to Mirkwood, Lothlorien, and Rivendell, depending which was closest, and joined the fights there. Millions of elves from the south added their forces, mainly to Mirkwood. Now they would be streaming west, because now the fight was there.

Tauriel had dozens of quivers strapped to the side of the eagle, nearly millions of arrows. She shot five at a time, and never missed.

The sharp twang of bows made the sweet sound that filled the air: the orcs had expended all or nearly all their arrows and were now nearly helpless.

They were as dangerous as cornered animals. If they had bows they went for neck and chest, knocking and strangling, even ripping to pieces horses and elves, and eating the raw meat that had just come from the bodies driven by beating hearts.

Fire was closing in all around the orcs, the horses bolted and screamed, but kept fighting on, trying to escape from the pressing river of Orcs.

A sword scrapped her side, tearing the leather. Red blood flowed free, but Tauriel hardly noticed.

"Where are the others?" She called in Elvish to the eagle.

"There is an Eyre close by. If they fought, as they clearly did, they would retreat up and to that spot."

"Take me there." Tauriel noticed the blood for the first time and clutched at the open cut. She realized she was holding her entrails in. "Hurry."

She felt like she was going to lose whatever she had eaten last. Tauriel's stomach roiled and tossed in protest, her body throbbed in rhythm with her beating heart. "Please. She whispered, closing her eyes and leaning against the body of the eagle, clutching tight. The rhythm of the beat of wings sped up to match her heart.

"We are almost there." The eagle assured her in elvish. "Maybe another five moments. Please hold on."

Her grip had been slackening, but Tauriel found she couldn't tighten her grip. "I can't." She murmured, closing her eyes again, focusing on her breathing, trying not to lose and fall.

Soon, the eagle was no longer flying, and she felt herself tumbling, screaming a name. "Legolas."

The rock was closing in, and the elf prince got their just in time. "Help me, Legolas." She whispered, opening her eyes just enough to see his face.

"I will." Legolas promised, lifting her. "I am helping you." He kept saying, and Tauriel realized it was because she kept pleading for his help and saying his name.

She was conscious of eyes looking at her, everywhere eyes, but she didn't care, not for once.

Legolas took his cloak and lay is close to her. Some eagles were reaching to their breasts, removing old feathers. A Silven Elf with minor burns was collecting them and bringing them to Legolas.

His knife was in hand and he was slicing, but she didn't feel the cool metal on her warm flesh. The cool breeze should've felt good, but it only burned. Tauriel whimpered, and sighted at herself. _ I'm such a child. _Tauriel thought angrily.

But Legolas seemed to understand, and smoothed her loose hair back from her brow and bend over her. He gave her a gentle kiss on the brow.

Tears sprang to her eyes when she felt Legolas' cold hands on her side, pulling her flesh back over her bones and blood and organs. "Do we have anyway to truly bind her wound." Legolas asked. Nobody could answer.

Arwen was there, wrapping a cloak full of feathers to hold her together as best as they could. Tauriel did not weep, nor scream, only squeezed her eyes shut and crane her neck away. Her throat burned with the unshed tears dwelling deep within, and they fought to escape in sudden bursts that turned into squeaks and whimpers. Pain shot through her like the arrow through Arwen's chest, and her body twisted, trying to escape the cause of the pain but she was being held down.

Terror scrapped at her lungs, making it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to stay awake. Every breath she took was like another orc slain, that much closer to achieving her goal.

Legolas was whispering to her in elvish, comforting her, but she couldn't understand, couldn't comprehend or respond to what he was saying. Tauriel just pulled and twisted and turned, trying to escape the pulling and prodding hands, trying to will her lungs to breathe and her body to still and her brain to calm.

That didn't work either. Like a spooked horse she tried to bolt, but like a stranded master Legolas and two of her Silven Elves, her friends and comrades, held her still, made the panic rise higher and higher until she seemed to be choking on it, if panic could be a physical thing enough to choke from.

Her strong heart pounded faster and faster, her breathing became shorter and shorter, her eyes fought to close but stayed open, rolling and crossing. She was sweating and laying in a puddle of her blood. She felt the breeze die from her exposed flesh, and knew that Legolas had bound the wound.

Everyone backed away, but Legolas, who stayed by her side.

She kicked and fought him trying to hold her, and unbidden tears leaked from her eyes as the wriggled in pain. "Legolas." She murmured, over and over again. "It hurts so much."

"I know." Legolas answered in elvish, which means that must have been how she spoke to him. "Just lie still."

"I cannot breathe well." She gasped, fighting to sit up.

Legolas grasped her shoulders firmly but kindly and pushed her flat onto the ground.

Tauriel was tired of fighting. She was bleeding terribly, her entrails were being held in by cloth and feathers. She was done.

Tears poured from her unwilling eyes down her fevered face and cooled her throat that was hoarse with the effort of hiding back tears and screams.

Legolas looked to the eagles. "For these three to survive, we must hasten toward Rivendell, now. The orcs should be occupied, and unable to peel away to attack those who would bear us."

"We must join the fight. I will come with you however, and another eagle should help bear the weight.." The king said, bending so he could lift Tauriel up.

"I thank you." Legolas bowed low, and held Tauriel in his arms atop the king of eagles, softly singing to her, keeping her calm. "Not long now." He whispered.

Whether not long until death or until unhindered life, Tauriel could not be sure.

Elrond

His entire fighting force had gone out to rescue the party and bring back his daughter, safely.

Which is why he hadn't gone.

Elrond had to see Arwen and help her, save her. Her son had made it through the Gap of Rohan and up north to Rivendell on the last day of the last year, and his wounds and hunger and thirst had been tended to.

Now the boy was off to war, insisting on fighting, though he had hardly seen 11 summers. His own boys has been like that, and neither one had died as of yet. But his only little girl was dying, his only child with the true foresight.

He saw two eagles slowly circling down, and all those that had stayed behind ran to meet them. Legolas and Arwen jumped down first, pulling Tauriel and Aragorn after them. Some stronger elders took Aragorn, while Legolas insisted on taking Tauriel.

"What has happened?" Elrond asked.

"An orc split Tauriel near in half, the poison in Arwen's wound is coming again, and Aragorn was burned and in turn had to lose nearly half his flesh." Legolas replied.

Arwen rushed forward, tears rushing from her eyes. "Ada." She whispered. "It is good to see you again, though the times are grim."

"I could not agree more, my princess." Elrond replied, holding her tight.

When he let go, he could see a begging look in her eye. "Please, let Aragorn and Tauriel receive your care first, Father. Tauriel is in more immediate danger."

Elrond nodded, and looked to a child with seventeen summers on her, still a kind maiden who had not yet seen even her womanhood.

"Get bundles of cloth and meet us in one of the empty rooms, you will know which." Elrond instructed, and she ran off with a rather startling speed. "Legolas, follow."

The elf prince did so, and Elrond led them up a staircase, through a grand door, up another small staircase, and down a rather lengthy hall, before stopping at two doors.

He turned to Arwen and the elf elder carrying Aragorn. "You may make him comfortable on this bed, and tend to his needs." He then turned to Legolas and nodded. "I will help Tauriel first, as Aragorn has already been cared for and can wait some time."

Legolas nodded and walked into the room. He set Tauriel down on the large, white bed, and smoothed her hair from her face. Kissing her brow, he pulled up the nearest chair and sat at her bedside, holding one limp hand.

The maiden came back with many bundles, and Elrond opened a few whilst she took her leave. He found his blade and cut of the bandages and feathers used to bind the wound, and found the cut deep, bleeding, and near festered.

Tauriel stirred and sighed. Elrond set a hand upon her shoulder. "Your wound is extensive. I will use a needle and thread to sew you up, so your insides might stay put." The elven king got out the said instruments and pushed the thread through the eye of the needle. "It will sting, as the needle is dipped in a cleansing potion, and it will hurt as I sew the skin together. Try not to shy away."

Tauriel seemed to hear, but didn't respond.

Elrond put the needle through one side of the flesh, and with a sharp tug that made Tauriel cry out pulled the needle through and to the other side, creating the first stich.

"I am sorry, but the pull cannot be helped." Elrond replied as Tauriel scrunched her beautiful face up and lay it against Legolas' arm. The elf prince stroked her hair and sang softly in elvish. Her breathing calmed slightly and Elrond continued.

When he was finished, he poured another potion over the wound that encompassed nearly her whole middle section, and sued cloth to wrap around the binding. Spot of blood already dotted the fine white cloth from the stiches, and Tauriel, pale and trembling, finally lost whatever hold she'd had on consciousness.

"Her wound should heal, but I shall come back to re-cloth the wound and bathe the stiches." Legolas nodded and kissed Tauriel on the brow again.

Elrond stepped out of the cool room into the one next door.

Arwen was holding Aragorn's hand, even though he was not awake to feel it.

Elrond peeled back the bandaged and cut off the dead and sick skin. He poured bottle after bottle of potion onto the wound, and Aragorn awoke only to scream. Elrond re-wrapped the wounds with better cloth.

"Arwen." Elrond summoned her, standing.

"Ada, no. I have to stay by Aragorn's side." Arwen protested.

"Arwen." Elrond whispered. "He will heal in a matter of days. Unless I start treatment of the poison now, but the time you finally have to lay down, it will be too late."

"Ada." Arwen whispered. She always got like this when she was scared and upset. Human children called their fathers' Dadda, or daddy, maybe father. Arwen ususally just called him father, unless she felt vunerable. Knowing this broke his heart.

She hadn't called him Ada until she came running in the morning, after dreaming that her bird had died then awoke to found it so.

The affectionate name didn't show up again until her mother died. Arwen had wept into Elrond's chest then, whispering "Ada." Over and over again, between raking sobs.

When she had dreamt his bloody murder, and ran screaming "Ada." At moon high, Elrond came to realize Ada was what she called him when she looked for the safety of his arms.

"You needn't be afraid of Aragorn, or Tauriel, or the soldiers. They are safe, and as long as you come with me now, you will be safe now." Elrond pleaded.

Arwen shook her head, looking over her shoulder.

"For the love you bear me." Elrond whispered, trying not to cry. It didn't seem like much, but this was a dagger to his heart. His little princess was going to die, that he knew for certain. He had foreseen it. But he had to at least try to change history.

He couldn't just not try.

Aragorn

He awoke in the House of Elrond. It was a lovely house, and his soul had belonged there for many years, until Arwen met him at Minas Tirith 11 years ago and became his queen.

His skin didn't ache and scream and burn anymore. The smell of Elrond and Arwen and all things beautiful and elvish surrounded him, and his breathing was easy and kind. The darkness vanished from the edges of his vision, and everything was clear and bright. Everything was soft and clean and quite, a bird chirped in the clear, crisp morning.

There was faint murmuring, a soft singing of a gentle voice from the next room over.

Aragorn bent to sit up, expecting pain to flare through his body, but none came. He stood steadily on his feet, and went to the window, pulling the curtains back.

His window looked down out into the courtyard, where a waterfall fell just beyond the small look of the trees over the rocks down into a gentle river. There were elven children running about and laughing, adults tending to their business, and elders lounging about.

He saw his own son, wearing the cloths of an esquire to a night of Rivendell. _When did he grow up? _Aragorn thought, a sadness falling down over his heart.

Aragorn pulled a fresh elven cloak, colored of Rivendell, over his shoulders and fastened it. A slight chill ca e up from the breeze rising off the waterfall and fighting between the trees.

Aragorn decided to go next door, to find the source of the soft singing.

He found walking surprisingly easy, though his one side was bandaged thickly and firmly.

Knocking on the door he entered, to find Legolas sitting in a chair next to a bed. The king of Gondor stepped forward attentively, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. The elven prince's singing cut off abruptly.

"Why, Legolas, I had no idea you had such a voice." Aragorn teased gently, smiling. There was a faint whimper from beneath the covers as Legolas let go of a pale and searching hand to look at Aragorn.

For the first time, Legolas looked weary. Even through the Mines of Moria, after the loss of Gandalf, the capture of Thorin Oakenshield, a lifetime of war with different kinds of orcs, many battles at each other's sides, the loss and gain of many friends, wearing travels to Minas Tirith over many years, Legolas had never owned a single shadow upon his eye, a single bruise to his pale and beautiful face. His hair had never been truly wild, but here it was, in complete disarray.

Sadness seemed to hang over him, like a cloud holding rain over a parched land.

The elf prince's face went up at the sight of Aragorn, the sadness dissipated, if only a little. His face became less lined, his hand trembled slightly less. "Aragorn." He came as close to a true smile as he ever had.

"Why are you do grim, Legolas?"

"I am less grim now, for the sight of you, my friend." Legolas replied, his voice regaining some strength. "Elrond has yet again proved that he is the great healer of this land, and if he should ever fall, middle earth would then be sorely taxed."

"Yes, truly." Aragorn replied, smiling himself. He pulled up his own chair to sit next to the bed. "Who might dwell here, Legolas?"

"Tauriel." Legolas replied, grasping her hand again.

"What has befallen our noble warrior?"

"She had returned, upon the eagle you had sent, holding her entrails." Legolas whispered, looking down upon her placid face. "Elrond had bound the wound and cleansed it, but still the fever remains, and she shivers and whimpers. I stay near to comfort her."

Aragorn rested a hand on Legolas' shoulder, and Elrond entered the room quietly.

"I see you are getting better, King Aragorn." Elrond smiled grimly.

"Yes, thanks to you, my Lord Elrond." Aragorn stood and bowed, just to get the formalities over with. "Might I Inquire about Queen Arwen?"

"She herself is resting." Elrond replied. "When the poison comes, it is swift and hungry. She will find herself in battle before long."

The smell of sickness hung in the air when Elrond peeled back the bloody bandage to reveal neat stiches underneath.

The cut went from the very middle of Tauriel's stomach across her side and hip and ended jaggedly a few inches from her side into her back. Elrond cleansed the wound and whispered elven words of healing. Nothing seemed to happen, and Elrond sighed.

Legolas seemed to droop.

"You must give her time." Aragorn whispered, clasping Legolas on the shoulder as hard as he could.

"I cannot give her time. But if I could give her every second remaining to me to restore her life, I would."

Arwen

She lay on her bed. It felt great to be back.

This is where she'd grew up. Arwen had given it up 11 years ago.

She remembered a month after becoming queen, she'd asked Aragorn a favor.

'If I should die, let me rest in my father's halls.'

Aragorn had looked at her strangely, but agreed. He knew that no matter how much she loved him, her heart always belonged in Rivendell. He understood.

A month later, she told Aragorn of her mortality.

He'd gotten angry, filled with grief. She'd held him while he sobbed gently. "I thought you said the light of the Evenstar didn't wax or wane."

The memory hit Arwen like the orc arrow had: fast enough to split her open and intoxicate but not kill her.

"It doesn't." She whispered. She'd read about even stars, the ones that hung in the sky like a net of fair jewels. The ones she was named after. "When the Evenstar dies, it happens all at once. It does not bother to fade slowly, it will not wane. It will just be gone one day, never again to be seen. I will never wax back in existence. It is not the moon."

"The story of the Evenstar is tragic, Arwen." Her father replied as he sat down on Arwen's bed next to her.

"Then why name me as such? It is as if I was doomed to tragedy from the moment I was born." Arwen's hair flew loose, one side of it draping over her shoulder into her face.

Elrond took her chin in his hands and turned her face upwards, pushing her hair back gently.

"Your mother thought it was beautiful, and would not have another name. 'Any other name for her wouldn't fit her beauty,' she said. At first I thought it was just the weepings of a mother after the pains of child birth, but I see now how right she was. You are enchanted, Arwen Evenstar."

Arwen leaned her face against his hand, letting the weight fall off her.

"Aragorn and Tauriel are well. It is no but you who needs my attention, now, princess."

Arwen smiled. "I am a queen now, father."

"Yes, but you will always be Princess Arwen Evenstar, the bravest elf of Middle Earth to me, even until you become queen, and your light fades, and another elf rises braver, and Middle Earth fails. For I will fail with it before I see the fall of the great Elven Kings and the strongest elves who ever lived."

"You tried to send me away, father. Near on 12 years ago, you sent me on the party to the last ship of Middle Earth to sail free."

"Despite my care, you turned back."

"I saw the child I would birth with Aragorn if I stayed."

"And, besides himself, Lindir stayed. Beside themselves, Galadriel and Celeborn never sailed, though it was the death of the king. Legolas never sailed, as neither did Thranduil. Your brothers wouldn't hear of leaving you behind. Near the whole party turned back with you. Thousands of elves stayed to their doom because Arwen Evenstar had the courage, despite everything."

"I was the reason men did not fall."

"Yes, and with the coming of the new orc invasion, they're angry, Arwen. They come for the elves."

"The men will finally rule. The nine who mislead them have fallen. Those who are doomed to die will not meet that fate for millions of years, past the time of the craftmen the dwarves, the noble the hobbits, the wise the wizards, the kind the eagles, the all-seeing the ents. The men will see beyond time of help by the wise and noble and strong and kind. They will fight for the elves, but will outlive the deathless.

"The ages have changed. The age of the Hobbits vanished slowly, when metals felled the land. The age of the dwarves burned when they became too enchanted with gold and silvers. The age of the elves came when men fought the orcs and hobbits destroyed the one ring. The age of the elves was the longest and prosperous.

"We were kind to the earth and all creatures on it. But the time of elves is ending. Our timelessness has run out. We must hand the kingdoms over to the men, and leave.

"It is prophesied 'When the leader of the strength and beauty of elves, the Evenstar, has finally burned herself out, thus will the fairest of all races: the timeless elves, loose their strength and the warmth of their fathers as the world fails to support endless life, for even the rocks and the trees must die. And the immortality will soon burn out. The Forest King will fall 'nieth a blade of poor forge. The Star Queen will rot in darkness. And the River King will have naught choice but to flow out to the ocean, or be poisoned by the taint of the invasion.'" Arwen breathed.

"How do you know such prophecy? The seer that wrote that hid it, and only the greatest kings know the tale. Only three. The Forest King Thranduil, the Star Queen Galadriel, and I, the River King, Elrond."

"I have foreseen my death, and the words came to me upon the last flutter of my eyelids and the mourning call of Aragorn and the murmur of the grief of Elrond. I will die, and the elven lords with me."

Elrond

He held Arwen, shaking with tears, against his chest. She was afraid. "Ada." She murmured against his chest.

"It will be alright." Elrond replied, running his hand down her back, soothing her.

"I will die. Already I feel the pain. It runs through me like the rivers through the land."

"I know."

"I am going to die soon. The Evenstar will blink out."

"I know." Elrond chocked, tears trying to make their way into his voice.

"Help me, Ada. Help me not to be afraid."

"I will." Elrond clasped her hand.

"On the day after the morrow, I wish to speak to my friends. Please help me, Ada. Help me be strong enough to say good bye."

"I will."

Legolas

Elrond stopped coming to tend to Tauriel. She was slowly getting better, so much so that Elrond had focused his attention on his daughter for the last week.

The group mainly stayed together, sharing Tauriel's stick room.

Faramir, Gimli, Legolas and Aragorn slept on the floor swathed in blankets. A healer came and went twice a day to cleanse Tauriel's scar and redress it. Lindir also shared the room, the beautiful elf stricken by Arwen's falling ill.

Tauriel's hair was still down, and Legolas and Lindir kept their hair down so the guard wouldn't feel alone, and in honor of Arwen's battle against the strongest poison known to Elrond.

Aragorn's skin was healing nicely, the marred skin was gentler than one would have thought.

The gash on Gimli's cheek was healed, and his auburn beard covered any scar that might show up.

Tauriel was gaining more of her color and strength every day, standing by the window each morn and even listening to the trees whisper and tell stories and birds and all things go on happily.

Though it was midday, Tauriel stood there now.

Gimili was laying very drunk on fine elven wine, and snoring. Faramir was pacing the space in front of the door, sometimes stopping to listen for Elrond. Lindir was sitting on the bed, humming absently, sometimes even rising to lyrics of songs and poems in elvish. Aragorn sat, leaning against the adjacent wall, sometimes drifting into sleep, sometimes painfully awake.

Legolas knew his heart wrenched and cried out for Arwen. His own heart had for Tauriel, and she seemed to know it.

Before, they had both blushed when looking at each other. Now they kind of just were, as if they had always been.

Legolas strode to the window, where Tauriel stood, perfectly erect, her hands clasped behind her back, as if she were waiting for Thranduil to approach her.

"What troubles you?"

"I am not troubled so much as seeking for news. The trees carry messages far. The Forest King can control them, as can we. They must carry some news from the forest."

"You worry about them. The elves still in Mirkwood."

"Of course I do. I only came with 12 Silven Elves, Legolas. The other 48 still reside in Mirkwood, if Mirkwood still be there."

"Mirkwood itself will always be there. The orcs of Sauron could not tear them up, their roots dig too deep. The elves can only still be there, for even if their immortality was stolen, and the bodies of their own friends and families and lovers were all around, they would keep still and fight off the intruders."

"Perhaps you are correct." Tauriel paused, and Legolas saw she was steering over slightly. The elven prince wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and pulled her close. She leaned her head against Legolas' shoulder, her face still looking out the window. "Do you ever worry about your Father, the king?"

"You may just call him Thranduil. He cares for you like his own child, you know."

"Yea, I know. But, do you ever just sit and just worry about him? Thranduil, I mean."

"Sometimes." Legolas replied, kissing the top of her head. "In truth, even I worry more about the forest and all that live there than just Thranduil alone. There are more than just him. That's what scares me most about losing the forest. I'd lose my whole family, too. Not just my home."

"I lost my family and my home. But I learned home is wherever you are. For people like me, the journey is home, I guess. Mirkwood means a lot to me, I grew up there. I have been a wanderer all my life."

"Thranduil says you are as untamable as the fire your hair is colored after."

"Thranduil?" Tauriel could hardly believe her ears. Her adorable little pointed elf ears.

"He cares for you like a child."

"Legolas." Tauriel let his name hang in the air.

She played with his fingers before holding his hand to her lips and kissing it before drawing it to her chest, as if for safe keeping.

"I am tame-able, you know. Nobody's ever done it, because I don't let them. Thranduil says you yourself are hard to control. You wander and fight and kill like I do."

"My own father sent me to the council of Elrond, where my journeys with Frodo first began. There is more to life than the trees and elves of Mirkwood, Tauriel. Thranduil did not wish me to go on the trip. He sent me because he himself feared the Ring, and it's total power. There are many dangers in this world, and I've saved a lot of people from a lot of them. My soul does wander." Legolas replied.

"Thranduil didn't mean that. He himself ventured out in his younger years, in the age of hobbits and even into the age of dwarves. He only came home when he became king, and his people were broken." Tauriel replied. "Your father watches over you because he cares about you, Legolas."

This Legolas knew. His father was cold and hard, but only because inside he was weak and afraid. "He told me once, when I was but a mere child, that if war should arise, I should not go. He begged me to stay home." It hurt to think about his mother. She'd been beautiful.

"My father does not want me, to become him. He became cold and bitter when my mother died."

"What was your mother, to make Thranduil so?"

"Beautiful. She was hard to tame, she didn't let any but Thranduil come near her. She was a Silven Elf, with hair of fire. Her heart matched it. She always took risks, ran into battle, protected the ones she loved. She had green eyes, and would teach me songs and sword play.

"When I was afraid, she'd sing to me in elvish and tell me tales of the hobbits and dwarves and men and elvish heroes deep into the night, until I fell asleep at the coming of the sun. It was she that taught me about braids and our culture, and helped me learn how to tie back my hair.

"Thranduil was never bitter. He always smiled and laughed, and was so merry, when I think about it sometimes I become sad, for that he has lost. They held hands and kissed often and shoved each other playfully, climbing trees and rushing around.

"My father never wore his crown or his royal cloths. He wore much what I do, and always goofed around, playing.

"It was early in my 5,000 year. There was a battle, and my mother went off in the night. Thranduil had argued late, I'd heard them.

"'You won't ever come back. You can't leave me.' I heard his wail as she walked out, kissing him before leaving for the last time. My father often sat still on his throne, until word came.

"The last time he ever held me was when a dying Silven Elf brought word.

"Thranduil and I cried for days, until Mirkwood needed him.

"He never hugged me. He became icy, never smiling, royal and far off

"Whence I first met you, I admit my feelings now. I asked my father for his allowance, and he scorned vbfgfbgvbfgvffvbgbvfgfvbgbvfgfvbgbvfbfvgfvbgbvfgfvbgbfvgfvbfvbbfvgfv

"I'd forgotten for a moment, forgotten my mother." Legolas bowed his head away, choking. "It had only been some 90,000 years, and I'd already forgotten."

Legolas was ashamed, and a tear trickled from his eye. Tauriel reached up and gently claimed it.

"I lost track of time the last time I saw my own mother. I don't know what she sounds or looks like. I remember a gray, dead body, and blood soaking through her silver-gold hair, my father died trying to protect her.

"Think about her every day, Legolas, or you will suffer the pain that forgetting brings."

Aragorn

They were adorable together. Their love was sweet and understanding and casual.

They also probably didn't notice they were speaking in Standard Tounge, and everyone there could understand them.

Aragorn bristled when an elvish messenger, the young lady, summoned Lindir, taking him to Arwen's sick room.

Faramir seemed to notice his tension, and put an arm on his shoulder. "You will go last, only to see her last."

That only made Aragorn feel worse.

Lindir

Lindir had served Elrond and in turn his sons and daughter. He'd never been prepared for Arwen's death, though.

Her sickroom bound his chest and heard, suddenly making it hard to breathe and move. Stiffness bridged everything, and Elrond stood, wavering on his feet.

Lindir went to his side, bearing him to a large chair. Sitting, Elrond sighed. "You must care for her while she visits, wake me when all have left." The River King told the young girl that had summoned and brought Lindir.

She bowed her head, and Elrond fell into a deep sleep.

"Lindir." He heard his voice being called out softly. He went to the bed, and found Arwen laying still, her face more pale than usual.

"Can you open the doors to the river side?"

Lindir nodded, and did so. The queen sighed as the sound of the outside world flew in and surrounded her. Those sounds always comforted Lindir, too.

"How are you, M'lady?" Lindir asked, standing close to her bed.

"Well." Arwen replied, smiling slightly, holding her hand out. Lindir took it, and at her urging helped Arwen to sit.

"I am glad to hear it." Lindir had been with Elrond through thick and thin for many years. That had included the death of his wife, the meeting of Aragorn, Arwen coming to womanhood, seeing her first vision, falling in love, losing her immortality for Aragorn, then her finally leaving home.

Over the years, word had come. The birth of her child, who of her friends had come recently.

Memories assaulted Lindir, grabbing on and never letting go. Arwen had done so many things. Somehow, even though he did not have the gift of foresight, knew that this would be the last thing Arwen would truly do.

And he was afraid of good bye.

Arwen grasped his hand, and Lindir sat down on her bed next to her.

"So many memories. I wouldn't forget you, Lindir." Arwen smiled. "You have aided my father, seen off the company held by my lover, seen me halfway to the end of Middle Earth, and came back with me, despite all the danger and death you faced.

"You are loyal to my father, and I must ask one thing of you, before I go.

"And go, I must.

"My time runs out, but I need to look after my friends, Aragorn and Legolas, and Gimili, when you can. And my father will need you most when I am gone from this world.

"I ask you to help my father wage the war for all those who can't, the hobbits and such, and to fight for Rivendell.

"I ask you to remind him how he shall die, for die in Middle Earth he must to save the elves of Rivendell."

"Yes, Arwen Evenstar." Lindir whispered.

"I thank you. One more favor I must ask. The benches at the end of this hall. Will you stay until my time is ended?

"And if you see him, will you send my son up to me, or at least tell me of him?"

"Yes." Lindir replied.

Arwen smiled. That was her last smile towards him.

"Then take your leave of me, Lindir Halfelven."

As Lindir walked to the benches to look out for her son, he realized that was the last words Arwen would ever say to him. The last smile she ever gave him hovered on the edge of his mind, and tears sprang to his eyes.

He turned back around, looking down the hall at Gimili being led to the chamber.

"Goodbye, Arwen Evenstar." Lindir bowed his head and laid his closed fist on his breast. "Farewell, my queen."

Gimili

Gimili's eyes betrayed him. Tears pulled at his eyes, but weren't able to spring loose yet.

Arwen was beautiful and strong, sitting even though she clearly wanted to lay.

Gimili just barely met her eyes whilst she was sitting down.

She smiled at the sight of him.

"My dear Gimili."

"My dear Queen Arwen." He responded, kissing her hand. She blushed, and kissed his cheek. It was his turn to blush.

"You fared well whilst flying. Elves rather enjoy seeing wonders, while I know dwarves like to stick close to the ground."

"Yes. Even riding a horse sparingly startled me for the longest time. Horses are better than legs in need of haste."

"Eagles, perhaps even better so." Arwen teased.

Gimili laughed nervously, and shifted, embarrassed. It was clear the lady could tell, for she patted him on the head.

"You were a kind friend, Gimili. Wise and loyal. Elves say dwarves are pests, destroying nature instead of caring for it. Whilst the latter may be true, Gimili Gloin's son, the former is not.

"You have fought valiantly, and saved Aragorn and even Legolas many times.

"I must ask you to save my friends once more. They still have a war to win, Gimili. Aragorn will forget. You must remind him, for if he does not fight, the elves will not be the only people who fall.

"I told Lindir to watch out for my son. If you would be so kind to do so, but not so much you can't look after Lindir himself.

"He is too loyal at times, and will stand vigil too long. He must rest, even whence I do. Remind him to live his life."

"I will." Gimili nearly chocked. Sadness filled him.

Arwen was so calm. She knew she was going to die soon hereafter for a long time. She just had to make sure everyone else was taken care of.

"Good." Arwen kissed the top of his head. Before sending him off, she made him pledge one more thing.

"Erebor must never become the Lonely Mountain again, Gimili. If your people do not fight alongst side Thranduil's then surely the mountain will fall again. You must not let that happen, for if it does the best makers will die out when Middle Earth needs them most."

"I'll make sure to sprint to battle myself, should the need arise most dearly, Queen Arwen."

Gimili was forced to make his leave, and resolved to look after Lindir and Aragorn and her child.

He found Lindir whispering over and over again in elvish, in vigil, towards Arwen's door. One of the few words he'd picked up from Legolas. "Farewell, Arwen Evenstar."

Gimili turned himself, to pay last respects. He stood straight at the stones in Erebor.

In dwarvish, Gimili said the last thing he'd ever say to Arwen, and she wouldn't even hear it.

"Sleep well, my queen."

Faramir

This was the queen he'd been loyal to for the last 11 years. That seemed like a lifetime. It'd been a good one too. His father had favored Boromir, but Arwen and Aragorn favored the kind and loyal and caring.

"Faramir, loyal and caring." Arwen smiled, taking his hand as he sat down next to her. Tears openly flowed down his face. She reached a pale and trembling hand up to claim them.

"Do not weep, for weeping shall distract you.

"Whence I am gone, you must do this one thing.

"You were a member of our guard. I am sorry that your son didn't make it, but you cannot let grief change the way you live. Not now.

"You must stand by and support Aragorn and Gimili and Legolas as they lead this war to protect the elves from murder."

"Yes, my queen."

"Aragorn needs someone steadfast. Soon, Legolas will crumble when his father falls, and he will lean on Tauriel. You will be all Aragorn has."

"Yes."

"Please, do not let him fall."

"Never."

Faramir was slumped and dying inside. He decided to join Lindir and Gimili on the benches.

He turned round back at the door, and spoke his last words to her in an ancient language of men.

"Do not worry. I will not let my sight fall from Aragorn."

Tauriel

She hadn't known Arwen that well. They'd met soon. Legolas had asked her if she wanted to come south to see Minas Tirith, and they became sort of fast friends.

But Aragorn and Legolas hadn't gone yet. Tauriel felt she shouldn't be given priority.

Arwen smiled when she said so.

"I do not plan to let Aragorn leave, so he must be last."

Tauriel nodded nervously. The queen was trembling, with fright or cold or pain, Tauriel couldn't tell which.

"Many of your elves have fallen in my aid. I thank them for their services, and I wish only to repay you."

"We do not need anything. We serve those we care about, and are happy to die in the process to save the life."

"Yes, this I knew. Silven Elves are not full of self-control, but have elegance and grace all the same, and are a force to be reckoned with."

"I thank you for the kind words, my queen."

Arwen nodded before continuing.

"My father tells me many elves from Rivendell and Lothlorien wish to become the followers of Tauriel, Daughter of the Woods. They want revenge. But they need training.

"Even if you will not train them, surely you will take them to Mirkwood? For they are in need of a family, and somewhere to call home after the raids and the killings. Many lost family and friends in the outwards attacks, and cannot bear to stay for the sadness that comes.

"They await in the courtyard. You must speak to Legolas, and to the trees to send message to Thranduil.

"Shall you except these troops, do not tell me, but tell them. Those who wish to come will come, and your people shall take them in kindly."

"The Silven Elves are a band of wild outcasts, who just needed somewhere to call home, someone to call family, and something to call occupation. Most are from Mirkwood, but in the past a few Lothlorien elves have come, and one Rivendell elf. We will take all those willing." Tauriel was glad for more to call family, even though she felt she could now call Legolas her lover.

"Good. And you must do one thing.

"Watch over Legolas.

"I would not tell you this, but I must.

"You are in love with him, and if you ask, Thranduil will eventually grant that request. Because he knows what will happen to Legolas once he is dead, because the King of the Trees will die, and soon.

"Your love will be pure, but do not let it hurt Legolas. He will rule the kingdom, but only if you are by his side. Only if you will take a pledge.

"Once, his mother left his father. You know the tale. If you ever deem to leave Legolas after you hold his child, he will not survive."

Tauriel closed her eyes and shook her head, smiling. "What do you mean?"

Arwen seemed to frown. "Have the trees not spoke to you?"

"Eye, they have. I thought it was the mere rumbling of trees."

"One thing Thranduil will tell you is when the trees advise you about your love, they do not mumble. For it was the trees that told him who his wife would be, and that she would carry two children.

"The trees told him Legolas would be the king whence he fell, whilst his other child would die moments after his birth, and in grief the mother will run off to war to die and leave him and Legolas to themselves.

"The trees tell all, and do not rant about anything but the past, for much have they seen."

Tauriel shook her head again. "Thranduil would never deem to let me pledge to Legolas, let alone willingly carry his child."

Arwen took Tauriel's hands in her own. The Silven Elf tried to pull away, but the look Arwen gave her led her to submission.

"Send the message to Thranduil about the troops. Then you must rest."

Tauriel stumbled back to the room, not joining her friends out of exhaustion. Legolas nodded when she told him about the message Arwen told her to send to Thranduil.

Putting her thin hands on the tree gave her a sense of comfort. She'd grown up and lived in the trees all her life, no matter how much else she saw, a desert would always terrify her.

Tauriel fell asleep after Legolas kissed her brow remembering Arwen's words. She whispered a fairwell in elvish, and thanked her for telling her to heed the words of the trees.

"May you see your own son before your last breath, and may you sleep in utter peace until the end of all times."

Legolas

Arwen had been Aragorn's love as long as the elf could remember. She'd loved him back so much as to let her immortality fade, and the heat of the Eldar leave.

After 11 long, great years, this was her payment. It was bitter sweet.

Arwen had known she was going to die, she told him as much. She just didn't know when. And 11 long years had been enough, she said.

"That is what you are saying, but is it what you are truly feeling?" Legolas asked.

"Yes." Arwen smiled, holding his hand. "I could not be surer, as this feeling is so strong it can only ring true."

Legolas nodded.

Elrond was still in a deep sleep, and he deserved it. The best healer was giving near all his life force to preserve Arwen's just that much longer.

The Queen of Gondor was beginning to loose feeling in the fingers on her hand, Legolas could tell by the strength of which she grasped his hand. As if she was afraid he wasn't truly there, and this was just a floating, vivid dream of the dying.

"I must tell you some of the future." Arwen continued. "Though I am loth to.

"Your father with be shorn in two, Legolas. You must not abandon the Woodland realm, but you must stirr them to fight for revenge for the king they have loved."

"My father… Thranduil will not die."

"We all seem deathless, but the blade will pierce him. You mustn't weep for long."

"I shan't." Legolas promised. "Thranduil always told me the kingdom comes first, which is why he is near as cold. He busied himself with protecting his own kind in his sadness.

"Mirkwood is stronger for it now."

"Yes." Arwen smiled, and kissed his fingers. "Might I ask you something, Legolas Greenleaf?"

"Of course, Arwen Evenstar."

"I have foreseen a great love between you and Tauriel. If your father shall grant the request, will you take Tauriel?"

Legolas could feel his cheeks grow warm, and knew he was blushing.

"It is my true desire. But my father would never allow it."

"Do not be so sure, Legolas. Thranduil knows he will be felled like even the greatest of trees, and he knows the love you hold is pure. He will grant the request, if only for your days to be filled with love and her's with joy, and a prince shall spring forth."

Legolas found himself to be blushing even more, and Arwen smiled.

"Take leave, now Legolas Greenleaf, and remember the sacridity of true love."

"I shall, Arwen Evenstar." With that, Legolas stood and left, passing a haggard-looking Aragorn.

The prince was torn. He wished to be with Tauriel, but also with Faramir and Lindir Halfelven and Gimili.

Finally, he walked to the end of the hall, so Tauriel could rest.

Lindir was in a reverie, and Gimli and Faramir were talking.

Turning to look back at Arwen for the last time, the Prince of Mirkwood whispered, "Have even faith in me, my queen, for shall Thranduil should fall, then I shan't, and love Tauriel until a blade shall take my own self. I will not forsake you, Arwen Evenstar. Rest well my friend."

Aragorn

His heart hurt. His throat hurt from holding back tears, and his eyes burned with dryness.

When Aragorn stepped into the sickroom, everything slapped against him.

Elrond sat, asleep, his life force vacating him slowly with the effort he put into Arwen. The young elf was standing, and closed the door behind him. Arwen was sitting on the edge of the bed, but her breathing was labored, her face pale, her eyes bright with fever, leaning heavily on one arm.

Aragorn rushed to her, and held his queen in his arms. Her back shook with tears she had since then been avoiding, twisting and turning away from the sadness. Now, it all came in a single rush that shoved everything else she might be feeling away into a vortex to never return in her living days.

"Arwen." Aragorn kept whispering to her, over and over and over. His shirt was becoming wet with tears as she kept crying and crying and crying.

She was afraid. Her back and hands shook not only with fits of sadness in the forms of crying, but she was trembling as well. "I am afraid." She murmured at last.

"I know." Aragorn replied, rubbing her back and holding her head to his chest. "Death is a terrible thing to stand down. Elrond will heal you, my queen."

"No. He will try, but it is in vain. I must die, and I shall." Arwen whimpered. "And that is what scares me to the deepest part of my heart. There is no living."

Aragorn fought back his own tears. They wouldn't help Arwen, now nor ever.

"Perhaps that may be so, but it is not vain to try. Elrond won't just let you go. Bear with it, if only to make him better, and make your pain less."

Arwen nodded, but just clutched on to Aragorn all the more tight. "I do not wish to die. Not slow and in pain, with my father rushing to save me in acts that are naught by vain.

"I don't wish to leave Middle-Earth forever, for my time to be just a memory that even the trees and rocks and rivers will soon forget. I do not wish to leave my son before he grows. I do not wish to leave you to fight all alone. I do not wish to leave Elrond to face armies of Orcs with little but a meager army of his own and my brothers. I do not wish to leave Legolas to face a murder of his father with none but Tauriel. I do not wish to leave Gimili before he faces his own hardships to become ruler of Erebor. I do not wish to leave Faramir before the swaying mass of orcs. I do not wish for Tauriel to bear a child on her own. I do not wish Elladan and Elrohir to face king-ship without their sister. I do not wish Thranduil and Galadriel to die without a gentle hand.

"I have no choice, do i?"

Arwen pulled her face from his chest, her eyes huge in her pale face, and wet with tears yet to be shed. Aragorn's heart twisted. "No, my princess. No, my queen. That is one thing you cannot have."

"Why should life be so fragile as one arrow to so easily end it?"

"Because we all do great things. We become champions, and try to keep going, yet if only we had the chance to, we would falter. For all eternity is a long time to live, my queen, and the heart cannot take the pain that is living so long. That is why elves ride to war, besides their will to live is their will to be at peace."

"Will I truly find peace in death?"

"I know so, for have you looked upon the faces of the dead? Their eyes are closed, their faces kind and relaxed. It is almost kind to look upon them in their eternal rest. For that is all death is. A rest that lasts longer than waking did."

Elrond

He awoke to the wracking sobs of his daughter. The first sight he saw was his little girl trembling in the arms of Aragorn, the big strong king who looked haggard and dying himself.

Arwen's sobs had waken him. The Elven King stood and walked to Arwen's bedside.

Elrond looked at her tear stained face. Aragorn claimed some of the tears, but they were quickly replaced.

"My daughter." Elrond whispered. "Is the pain returning?"

"Yes, Ada. It hurts."

Elrond put his hand up to her face, looking deep in her nearly-black eyes.

"Lay back."

Arwen did so, and Aragorn pulled up a chair next to her, holding her limp hand.

Elrond gently pulled back the soiled bandages to reveal the wound. It was blackening. The poison was festering again. Elrond lit a fire, and boiled water.

He dipped a cloth into the boiling potion and laid on top of the wound. He gently tipped a phial filled with the potion on top of the bandage, so the white was speckled with purple.

Arwen's eyes clouded with sleep, and she sighed gently. Her sobbing stopped, her head lolled, and she fell into a decent sleep.

Elrond stayed by her bed day in and day out, not daring to do more that blink. He worked, even though he grew weary, and his own life force started to ebb away.

His daughter wouldn't die without a fight.

Aragorn

He fell into sleep, his head resting on Arwen's side. His dreams were muddled and confused, his head spinning in circles in the darkness of what could only be the result of total death.

When he awoke, Arwen was still in a deep sleep, murmuring in elvish under her breath. Elrond was still whispering words of healing and working tirelessly to flush out the poison that just wouldn't leave.

"Perhaps you should rest. It is unhealthy to tend to continuously."

"My people may not drown unless it comes in the form of a wound so strong the blood rushed in a flood. I shall not die, not become sick, whilst tending to my daughter. I can afford to do so as long as she shall live." Elrond muttered, consenting on breathing for a moment before continuing his healing efforts.

He wasted potion freely, sparing nothing to save his daughter. Aragorn admired it, but also hated it.

He hated how Elrond clutched on. Aragorn understood it, but just didn't like it. More than anything, Aragorn wanted to reach out, because it hurt him too. But there was no use prolonging a life destined to end in a fit. Not use trying to stop it.

Elrond was doing little more than making Arwen that much more scared.

Because he didn't give up. Arwen became more and more restless and frightened the harder Elrond tried. She wanted to die less and less, which was no crime, even though she must die.

The crime was truly making Arwen suffer past her days.

The crime was that her own son was training with the Elven warriors, and wouldn't see his mother in her final moments.

Aragorn couldn't understand that.

It hurt. A lot.

The fact that his love was down there, laying on the bed, becoming further and further away as death crept nearer and nearer and pain become all Arwen could see.

This attempt was doing naught but prolonging her suffering.

"I know how your heart aches, Lord Elrond, for mine twists the same. But there is no way to stop this nasty orc poison from the south. It only comes, but does not fade."

"Are you suggesting I should leave the wound to fester, worse and worse, only to let my daughter die in true and unflinching pain?"

"Yes." Aragorn sighed. "It hurts me as to say it, but it is true. Nothing you can do will save Arwen."

Elrond had tears in his eyes as he looked down at Arwen. "My sweet little girl." He put a hand on her brow. She was burning up. Aragorn closed his eyes to fight off the burning tears on the edge of his vision.

"It hurts." Elrond murmured, allowing himself for the first time to be openly insecure.

Aragorn reached out and put a hand on his shoulder gently.

"Yes. It does."

Arwen

In her dream, she was in Rivendell. It was years ago, nearly 13 by now. Her father was trying to persuade her to leave on the ship, the last ship out of Middle Earth.

"You have nothing in Middle Earth but death!" Elrond said. Anger was brimming over his voice, but not at her. At himself. Panic overwhelmed him, Arwen could tell.

"There is always hope. I have given it to the Dunedane."

"I have kept none for myself." Elrond murmured, holding Arwen's hands close to his chest. "But Aragorn could be dead, for all we know."

"You have foreseen the child, father. You know I must stay."

"I know you must, but I do not know if you should."

"Aragorn will protect me until the end of my days."

"And when shall that be?"

"Soon."

Arwen awoke to the sound of her voice saying 'soon' in her head as an echo.

"Aragorn?" She asked. Fear surrounded her like the darkness. "Is there no light?"

"It is midday."

"I see naught."

"You are probably just tired." She heard Elrond reply.

"But I have just woken."

"When one is sick, eyes go dark with weariness."

In death, Arwen forgot. She forgot reason. She forgot logic. She just wanted to feel safe. She just wanted comfort. And if it was a lie, she didn't care.

"I've been here, my sweet. I shan't leave."

Arwen reached up with her head to nuzzle him, and Aragorn bent so she could reach.

"Ada?"

Elrond's heart wrenched. She was afraid.

"I shan't leave, either."

"I'm scared."

"I know."

"I'm cold."

Elrond and Aragorn worked together to tighten her blankets before Elrond said, "I know."

"I am dying."

"I know."

"I can see only shadows."

"This I did not know." Elrond tried to smile, but his tears turned it into a grimace. Her eyes hadn't clouded over.

The beating of Arwen's heart was the only thing she could feel. No hands or hugs or kisses. The beating of her strong, elvish heart filled her head and her hearing.

Bum. Bum. Bum. Ba-dum bum. Bum. Bum. Bum.

"I'm scared, Ada."

"I know." Elrond whispered. "But you needn't be. You will get better."

"I will?"

"Yes, my Arwen Evenstar."

"Don't leave me here alone, Ada."

"I won't. I'm right here, and so is Aragorn. It's alright. You'll be fine." Elrond replied, smoothing back her hair.

"I'm dying."

"Yes." Elrond choked. His voice broke, but didn't shatter.

"Please, don't let me die."

"I won't. You must rest."

"I wish to stay awake."

"You must rest. I will heal you. You will awake better, and your friends will crowd your bed, and smile, and you'll return home."

Tears streamed down Arwen's cheeks. "You won't let me sleep alone?"

"No, my princess. I'm right here. I'm here for you. I'll make it okay." Elrond whispered over again and again, as if he was trying to convince himself that he was truly present in this room as much as to comfort Arwen.

"You must rest now."

Arwen nodded bravely, biting her lip and holding back final tears. The pain had ceased. She must be getting better.

"Do not fear anymore, my Arwen. I shall make you better, and then awake you." Elrond promised. "Sleep gently, my beautiful Arwen Evenstar. Close your eyes and let yourself drift."

Arwen did so.

And she was removed from everything. She knew Elrond was still whispering to her, but she couldn't understand. She knew Aragorn was kissing her brow and her hand, and holding her close. "Don't fear, Arwen."

The last words drifted after her as away she went.

And Arwen Evenstar closed her eyes and faded into blackness.

And Elrond never woke her again.

Aragorn

He dropped Arwen's dead and cold hand and stood. Anger and sadness overwhelmed him.

He clenched his hands, and a howl rang from his throat. It rang out the windows and down in the courtyard, all the elves and men stopped and wept, for Arwen Evenstar had died.

Elrond was bent backed, weeping silently, his whole body shaking.

Aragorn slammed open the door and paced along the length of the hall.

Angry hot tears streamed from his eyes.

Gimili had thrown his axe in a burst of anger against a column.

Faramir was on his knees, head buried in his hands.

Lindir stood, arm on his breast, head lowered.

Legolas and Tauriel had been sitting against the bench, but at the wail Tauriel had collapsed into Legolas' chest, unbidden tears coming to her eyes. She had never cried out of sadness. It was a different kind of tear when in pain, and not really crying.

Now she wept adamantly, Legolas rubbing her back and kissing her head.

Aragorn sat down next to Legolas, who seemed to be the only rock in this turmoil. The elf prince put an arm on his shoulder, holding the King of Gondor up in his grief. His total grief.

Conclusion

Weeks had passed.

Everyone had been totally consumed in their grief.

Now, Elrond stood in the courtyard, saying fairwell to his friends. They needed to return to their homes. His hair was brushed and freshly braided, his cloths clean.

200 new elves ready to begin training in Mirkwood stood behind Tauriel, who was hand in hand with Legolas.

She'd have 400 elves under her care. Aragorn and Faramir were staying at Rivendell to fight and to bury Arwen.

It'd still been too soon when Thranduil had asked for his men to return.

Aragorn and Legolas' had their hands on the other man's shoulder.

When they had let go of each other, the king approached Tauriel. "Be sure to keep Celivel near you, for I will send messages through the trees."

"Of course. Stay well, Tauriel Daughter of the Forest."

Aragorn came to Gimili, who had tears streaming to his beard.

"Do not fret, my friend, for we have parted many a time before."

"yes, but this time I am unsure when I shall see you again. Or if I shall."

"Gimili Gloin's son I shall meet again. Go back to Erebor and fight for your homeland. Then return to me."

When all the fairwells had been said, they mounted the Eagles, who would take them all back to Mirkwood, where Gimili would stay with a dwarf party to fight.

Elrond stood erect and strong, waving fairwell to Legolas, wishing his father and himself prosperity and protection through the wars.

Aragorn stood tall and kingly next, raising his hand in fair well to his friends Tauriel and Legolas and Gimili.

Faramir stood strong and endearing, looking after his friends as they left. And something inside of him told Faramir this would be the last view he would get of his friends. He remembered them fondly.

The three left, and went to see Arwen's body, like they did every day.

Each kissed her brow, before returning to Elrond's study to speak.

"She said she must die for the world to be safe."

"She had foreseen the prophecy. The three great Elven Lords will fall to protect their realms, but only if the Evenstar dies shall the orcs gain power.

"I only know one thing. I will die. Galadriel will die. And I just sent Legolas off to see his father be hewn down like a tree."

To be continued…


End file.
